Bursts on its raptured vision, as of old
A mighty angel rolled away the stone
Which shrouded o’er the sepulchre of God,
And clothed in living glory, as a robe,
Came forth the Crucified! How soft at first
The voiceless breathing of that atmosphere —
How sweet the stillness where no breezes sigh
Save that of Love’s impassioned oracle!
Anon ’tis broken, and the future sobs
A low, sad warning of the storm to come.