Human host, and of incense harboured so vast a cloud,
Wanders the chorus grave from lips invisible. Thunders
Break from the organ at times out of its hidden grove.
Down thro’ the tombs the roar reverberates deep in the darkness;
The enormous pillars seem to throb to the hymn.
High enthroned the pontifical priests watch, blessing the people.
At the iron gates angels and lions keep guard.
How majestic the chant! From its large, long undulations
Rises one clear voice with a melodious cry.
The voice mourns, alone; in his cold vault does he not hear it,