Shone or seemed to shine and swim
Through the cloud-surf great and grim,
Thought's live surge, the soul of him
By whose light the sun looks dim.

In what synod were they sitting,
⁠All the gods and lords of time,
Whence they watched as fen-fires flitting
⁠Years and names of men sublime,
When their counsels found it fitting
⁠One should stand where none might climb--
None of man begotten, none
Born of men beneath the sun
Till the race of time be run,
Save this heaven-enfranchised one?

With what rapture of creation
⁠Was the soul supernal thrilled,
With what pride of adoration
⁠Was the world's heart fired and filled,