The desert waste of snows abroad;
The keen winds rush with sullen cry,
Like shrieks of horror on the road:
Within, the lustre of a light,
Like Israel's pillar-flame at night!
No mystic seer looks upward now
In stars to read his destiny:
We watch the flame's pure vestal glow
Shine like a beacon, steadfastly,
And read our fireside cheering lore