Ah, who can she be—there enthroned as a bride
Where the Ark of the Covenant rested of old?
Is it She for whose advent our fathers have sigh’d—
The long-promised Virgin Isaias foretold?
And what was the Dove? When the voice said “her Spouse,”
Did it mean that Jehovah had seal’d her his own?
Has she too, like me, made the sweetest of vows—
To live evermore for Divine love alone?
But she comes: and I feel that the angels are here.
Their charge to be mine! They will share it, then, still.