The Cloisters: The Holy Land

Unto the East we turn — like some bright stair
Let down from Heaven, the land where Angels still
Linger at Chinnereth's lake or Tabor's hill.
Here Jesus sat, there stood, here kneel'd in prayer ;
Here was His cradle, there His sepulchre.
E'en now appears the bleeding spectacle
Upheld to the wide world : the cup of ill
Is drain'd, with hands outstretch'd, bleeding and bare,
He doth in death His innocent head recline,
Turn'd to the West. Descending from his height,
The sun beheld, and veil'd Him from the sight.
Thither, while from the serpent's wound we pine,
To Thee, remembering that baptismal sign,
We turn, and drink anew Thy healing might.