Look out o’er the blinding heaven!
Look out o’er the searèd ground!
Is naught in view save the torturing blue
And the maddening sand around?
Behold a speck afar!
It seemeth a cloud like a hand,
And it beck’neth us on through the raging sun
Away to the Promised Land!
Is it the Angel of Death,
Sent forth as a mocking guide?