Upon the priestly knife that gleams o’erhead.
Messiah cometh not, we watch in vain;
The veil is rent, broken the altar stone,
The worshippers are slain, the church o’erthrown.
SONNET: OU VONT ILS?
FROM THE FRENCH OF SULLY PRUDHOMME.
To what strange land gather the slain of Love?
Heaven were no world for them, it hath no bliss