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ST. JOHN

 ("Un jour, le morne esprit.") 
 
 {Bk. VI. vii., Jersey, September, 1855.} 


 One day, the sombre soul, the Prophet most sublime 
 At Patmos who aye dreamed, 
 And tremblingly perused, without the vast of Time, 
 Words that with hell-fire gleamed, 
 
 Said to his eagle: "Bird, spread wings for loftiest flight— 
 Needs must I see His Face!" 
 The eagle soared. At length, far beyond day and night, 
 Lo! the all-sacred Place! 
 
 And John beheld the Way whereof no angel knows 
 The name, nor there hath trod; 
 And, lo! the Place fulfilled with shadow that aye glows 
 Because of very God. 
 
 NELSON R. TYERMAN. 


 





Poem by Victor Hugo
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