he keeper cometh,
Who the gateway ever keepeth,
To unfold the golden barrings;
And he throws the gate wide open,
And the pilgrim enters therein
Now into the holy regions.
There a band of seraphs meet him,
Chosen from the ranks around them,
Guide him to the shining white throne,
Where the King in glory sitteth.
And the holy King says, 'Welcome,
Welcome to you, pilgrim, brother!'
And he bids an angel bring him--
Bring him royal robes and robe him,
Garments rich, and white, and lovely,
And a golden crown to crown him.
While the empyrean minstrels rising,
All in flowing garments vested,
Some with harps and some with timbrels,
Some with lutes and some with trumpets,
All in goodly order mingled,
In the skill of gay perfection;
Far the minstrel band extendeth
Like a wilderness of grandeur.
As a sea of flowing white waves
Mingled up with diamond ripples;
As the moon on sparkling waters,
Comes the light from glowing beacons,
Dancing on their crowns of glory,
Far and near redounding, flowing
In a thousand dazzling colors,
Like unto a flood of crystal.
Silent are they all and heedful
While the leader on his tower stands,
High amid the radiant brightness,
Till his silver wand is raised;
Then for music every trumpet,
Every lute, and every timbrel,
Every harp is strung and ready,
And for songs wait all the voices.
Lo! it falls, and floods melodious
Flow from every voice united,
Rise from every lute and timbrel,
Stream from every harp and trumpet.
Noble and majestic cadence,
Full of might and full of sweetness;
Like tremendous thunders rolling,
Rumbling in their strength and grandeur;
Sweet as nectar, which is poured
From the cup which Juno holdeth.
Far and near the echoes answer,
From the vaults and arches flying,
In the distant spaces rising
Over thrones, and crowns, and mansions,
Breaking o'er the vitreous white throne;
Like a music-meteor falling,
Casting down its charms around it,
Ever softest, sweetest, fairest;
Softly as the summer showereth,
From its fragrant bosom, largely,
Dews upon the sleeping meadow.
This is honor to the pilgrim,
Welcome to his seat of glory;
Songs of joy that he is landed
From the perils of the journey
To be one for ever with them.
Now beside the throne he standeth,
In his bosom gladness flowing.
He hath now been crowned and vested;
And the King, arising, speaketh:
'Guide him to his seat of glory,
To the mansion he hath gained.'
Then, as magic fell amid them,
Every voi