O,--priest, whose ministrations, laid aside
To bring fulfillment of the fearful curse
Upon thy race, have now that curse assured,--
Look back!--and see the altar, bared to view
Of vulgar herd and phrenzied populace.
"_The veil in twain is rent_,"--and never more
Shall dread Shekinah show Himself to thee;--
But where each humble soul, with sin oppressed,
Lifts up the cry of penitential grief,
A temple shall be found,--and deep within,
Shall dwell that sacred Presence,--evermore.
* * * * *