In love we would yet mingle in their ranks: Again to calm this restless discontent. 538
How oft belief proves but delusive hope! Alas! how things have changed. We deemed no rank Than ours more happy in this rising Realm,-- Yea, thought our state even like unto God's own, More blessed than Earth and e'er unchangeable.-- Till Gabriel met us with his trumpet bold, And from the golden port the hosts astounded With this new-made decree, that shall deprive The Angels of the good, the highest good, First from the Godhead's breast to them outpoured. 10 How is our glory dimmed! We now behold The beauty and the dazzling radiance That streamed so proudly from our ancient splendor In darkness quenched. We see the Hierarchies Of Heaven thrown into confusion strange, And man to such a rank, to such proud height Exalted, that we tremble even as slaves Beneath his sway. O unexpected blow And change of lot! Ah! comrades in one grief. Ah! come and gather round in groups and sigh 20 And weep with us together here. Tis time To rend this shining raiment, meet for feasts, To voice our plaints; for none can this forbid. Our gladness fades and our first sorrow dawns. Alas! alas! ye choristers of Heaven, O brothers, tear those garlands from your brows And change the blithesome livery of joy For sorrow's gruesome garb. Oh! droop your eyes. Seek shadows even as we; for sorrow shuns The light. Let each one raise his voice to ours 30 And utter fearful plaints. Drown in your grief; Sink down in mournful thought. To voice your woe, The burdened heart relieves. Now joy to groan: For groaning heals the smart. Now shout aloud, As with one voice, and follow these our woes: Alas! alas! where is our bliss departed?
What plaint arises here, unpleasant sound? The Heavens shrink back in fright. This air on high Hath not been wont to hear the wail of woe On sad notes sobbing through these joyful vaults. 40 Nay, wreaths and palms and loud triumphal song And tuneful harps are far more meet for us. What can this be? Who crouches here with head Down-hanging, sad, forlorn, and needlessly Oppressed? Who gave them food for grief? Who can The reason guess? O fellow choristers, Come then, 'tis needful that we ask the cause Of their lament and this dark cloud of woe, That robs our splendor of its radiance And dims and dulls the bright translucent glow 50 Of the eternal feast. Heaven is a court Where joy and peace and all delights abound. Grief never nestled 'neath these lucid eaves, Nor woeful pain. Ah! fellow choristers. Oh! come, console them in their heaviness.