The lights of joy at midnight hour
Were up in ancient Babylon.
Beauty and Pleasure, Pride and Power,
Were gathered round Belshazzar's Throne.
The while he dug, his coat she quaintly dress'd
With flowers, aye peeping forth lest he might see
The unfinish'd fancy; then how pleased when he,
Thou, the King of kingdoms great,
Thou, the Consort of his state,
Ye have eaten Heavenly food,
Jesus' body, Jesus' blood;
'Tis now the silent night: the full-orbed moon
Hangs in the depth of blue; scarce shine the stars,
Drowned in her light; the valleys of the earth
Behold, behold, from out the shadowy Past
Our Scottish fathers start! They start, they come
With onward eyes, around their lifted heads
Eye of the brain and heart,
O Genius, inner sight,
Far through the snows of winter come
To share his widowed Grannie's home,
“I've done my work: o'er belts and breadths of earth,
Regions, and parallels, and wide degrees,
I've hunted him: I've done him down to death:
Pride, wrath, revenge, the passions of his blood,
All dead; repentant o'er the pondered past,
And summing up the actions of the day,
Kings from their thrones are hurled.
Beauty is wed to Use.
There lies he on the skirts of the great world,
Undisciplined, aimless, loose,—