Chapter XCIV

To-day the chimes of England call
A nation to the festival;
And I can see the glorious light,
That makes the minster-window bright,
And throws a gorgeous stain, in flood,
Upon the blessed bread and blood.
I see, beside the altar, stand,
The bishop, with the Cup in hand,
A solemn light around him shed,
And holy hues upon his head!
I see the priests in snowy white,
And tombs with blazon’d scutcheons dight;
I see the people kneeling round;
I hear the organ’s host of sound,
With angels and archangels high,
The Saviour laud and magnify!
And I can feel, to worship there,
Is living on the mount of prayer!