Methinks we hear
An echo of angelic harmony
From that blest choir who struck their harps with joy
That from the Tempter's ordeal he had risen
An unhurt victor. Round the Throne they pour'd
Their gratulations that the born of clay
Tho' by that mystery bow'd which ever veils
The inscrutable counsels of the All-Perfect One,
Might with the chieftain of the Rebel Host
Cope unsubdued and heavenward hold his way.