PILGRIM.
The silence of Eternity
Around my work doth ever lie.
When marbles into dust shall fall,
And human art no fame befall,
The sun no more its beams shall give
To statues seeming half to live,
Beauty no more on genius wait,
Which copying seemeth to create;
When heaven and earth shall pass away,
When breaketh everlasting day,
Then shall the Image that I form,
Appear 'mid nature's dying storm.
The Image that no human skill
Could fashion, or Archangel's will;
No angel mind the model give
Of that which shall forever live.
At that great day it shall be known,
The Image of the Eternal One.