At sight of Him.
. . . . . . . .
At length
The pale, glad lips have breathed the trembling prayer,
“O Lord, remember me!“ The hosts of God
With wistful angel-faces, bending low
Above their dying King, were surely stirred
To wonder at the cry. Not one of all
The shining host had dared to speak to Him
In that dread hour of woe, when Heaven and Earth