Verse > Anthologies > W. Garrett Horder, ed. > The Poets’ Bible: New Testament
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W. Garrett Horder, comp.  The Poets’ Bible: New Testament.  1895.
 
Whit-Sunday
From the Parisian Breviary
 
Translated by Isaac Williams

NOW our prayers are heard on high,
    And ’mid mortal men unblest,
The good Comforter is nigh,
    Coming from the Father’s breast.
 
WHAT mysterious sight and sound,        5
    Of our God the coming speaks!
Like a rushing wind profound,
    All the house His presence shakes.
 
Like a fiery shower it falls
    All the hallow’d guests among,        10
Upon each within the walls
    Sitting like a flaming tongue.
 
While the bright and lambent blaze
    Plays their unharm’d heads around,
It hath gone, with piercing rays,        15
    To their deepest hearts profound.
 
All aghast the nations throng,
    While with other tongues they name
Things that unto Heaven belong,
    And whate’er they speak is flame.        20
 
Lo, again, O sight of fear,
    For the hearer hath a tongue;
Of new prophets, while they hear,
    Hath another harvest sprung.
 
Praise to Father, and to Son,        25
    And to Thee, the Holy One,
By whose awful breath divine
    Our dull spirits burn and shine.
 
 
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