IX - VIGIL

This is the hour when all substantial foes

Are exorcised and taunt the soul no more;

Now thinner grows the veil between the shore

Of vaster worlds and our calm garden close.

Through the small exit of the open door

We pass, and seem to feel the eyes of those

We knew upon us; almost we suppose

The advent of the face we tremble for.

O that through this profound serenity

Might sound the answer to the heart's deep cry;

If all those gracious presences might see

That, though we hurt them once, they shall not die

Until we also wither, we who keep

Vigil on these sweet meadows where they sleep.