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Down from the Mount I O thou snow-mantled summit, coldly still, What didst thou see that night, in purple gloom, When dusk stole lingeringly from hill to hill, And deeper than the silence of the tomb Was that calm depth of silence where the day Faltered along the blue marge far away?
II What didst thou see? Three forms unearthly bright, Talking and pacing there, with grave glad eyes; And One on Whose face shone a solemn light Brighter than daybreak when June tints the skies: But, lo, on His pure brows – no kingly gem – The shadow of a sharp thorn-diadem!
III Then, as the stars passed over, a great throng Gathered with wailing in that lonely place, And with the dawn One came to right their wrong, He and the Dawn together: and His face Was radiant with unfading memories Of that dear splendour and a Father’s peace.