Among the Spirits, of pure flame,
That round the' Almighty Throne abide
Circles of light, that from the same
Eternal centre sweeping wide,
Carry its beams on every side,
(Like spheres of air that waft around
The undulations of rich sound)
Till the far-circling radiance be
Diffus'd into infinity !
First and immediate near the Throne,
As if peculiarly God's own,
The Seraphs* stand this burning sign
Trac'd on their banner," Love Divine !"
* The Seraphim are the Spirits of Divine Love.
Their rank, their honours, far above
Ev'n those to high-brow'd Cherubs given,
Though knowing all so much doth Love
Transcend all Knowledge, ev'n in heaven !
'Mong these was ZARAPH once and none
E'er felt affection's holy fire,
Or yearn'd towards the' Eternal One,
With half such longing, deep desire.
Love was to his impassion'd soul
Not, as with others, a mere part
Of its existence, but the whole
The very life-breath of his heart !
Often, when from the' Almighty brow
A lustre came, too bright to bear,
And all the seraph ranks would bow
Their heads beneath their wings, nor dare
To look upon the' effulgence there
This Spirit's eyes would court the blaze,
(Such pride he in adoring took)
And rather lose, in that one gaze,
The power of looking, than not look !
Then too, when angel voices sung
The mercy of their God, and strung
Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet,
The moment, watch'd for by all eyes,
When some repentant sinner's feet
First touch'd the threshold of the skies,
Oh then how clearly did the voice
Of ZARAPH above all rejoice !
Love was in every buoyant tone,
Such love, as only could belong
To the blest angels, and alone
Could, ev'n from angels, bring such song !
Alas, that it should e'er have been
The same in heaven as it is here,
Where nothing fond or bright is seen,
But it hath pain and peril near
Where right and wrong so close resemble,
That what we take for virtue's thrill
Is often the first downward tremble
Of the heart's balance into ill
Where Love hath not a shrine so pure,
So holy, but the serpent, Sin,
In moments, ev'n the most secure,
Beneath his altar may glide in !
So was it with that Angel such
The charm, that slop'd his fall along
From good to ill, from loving much,
Too easy lapse, to loving wrong.
