Chapter LXXXIX

Think, my soul, in every land
How, in holy aisles, they stand;
Christians—who with every tongue,
Lauds, and anthems high, have sung;
And all night long, pale vigil kept,
As Magdalene and Mary wept,
With lowly heart, but lifted eye,
Gazing raptly on the sky,
Blessing there the Paschal moon,
And longing, as she pass’d her noon,
To see her silver melt away,
In all the golden glow of day!