Their souls alight with love,—Glory, and Praise, and Immortality!—
Veil thine eyes: no son of time may see that holy vision,
And even the seraph at thy side hath covered his face with wings.
Doth he not speak parables?—each one goeth on his way,
Ye that hear, and I that counsel, go on our ways forgetful.
For the terrible realities whereto we tend, are hidden from our eyes,
We know, but heed them not, and walk as if the temporal were all things.
Vanities, buzzing on the ear, fill its drowsy chambers,
Slow to dread those coming fears, the thunder and the trumpet;
Motes, steaming on the sight, dim our purblind eyes,