Memorials of a Happy Time: The Preparation

The clouds lay folded on the mountain's brow,
A huge and restless curtain drooping low.
This way and that it waved with solemn swell,
And from behind it flakes of sunlight fell
On many a patch of redly withering fern,
Melting away upon them: far above
Vast shapes were seen, uncouth and horrible,
Masses of jagged rock that seemed to move,
Turning where'er the rolls of clouds did turn,
Piled up on high, a grim and desolate throne:
But no one was there that might sit thereon.
All preparation had been made for One
Who had not come. Ah! surely we must say,
They looked for God being out on some great work
that day!