The Distant Mountain-Range

THEY beckon from their sunset domes afar,Light's royal priesthood, the eternal hills:Though born of earth, robed of the sky they are;And the anointing radiance heaven distilsOn their high brows, the air with glory fills.The portals of the west are opened wide;And lifted up, absolved from earthly ills,All thoughts, a reverent throng, to worship glide.The hills interpret heavenly mysteries,The mysteries of Light,—an open bookOf Revelation: see, its leaves unfoldWith crimson borderings, and lines of gold!Where the rapt reader, though soul-deep his look,Dreams of a glory deeper than he sees.