Cultus Sanctorum.
XI.
He seemed to linger with them yet:
But late ascended to the skies,
They saw—ah, how could they forget?—
The form they loved, the hands, the eyes.
From anchored boat—in lane or field—
He taught; He blessed, and brake the bread;
The hungry filled; the afflicted healed;
And wept, ere yet he raised, the dead.
But when, like some supreme of hills,
Whose feet shut out its summit's snow,
That, hid no longer, heavenward swells
As further from its base we go,
Abroad His perfect Godhead shone,
Each hour more plainly kenned on high,
And clothed His Manhood with the sun,
And, cleansing, hurt the adoring eye;
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Then fixed His Church a deepening gaze
Upon His Saints. With Him they sate,
And, burning in that Godhead's blaze,
They seemed that Manhood to dilate.
His were they: of His likeness each
Had grace some fragment to present,
And nearer brought to mortal reach
Of Him some line or lineament.