The Chapter-house: Episcopacy VIII

" He that despiseth you doth Me despise."
Lo ! at that call Faith her best robe prepares,
And Heaven to Earth lets down the eternal stairs,
Through a long line of more than good or wise,
The high-born legates of the appeased skies
Come down their avenue of sacred years ;
Each in his hand Messiah's olive bears.
Ye priestly brotherhood, with reverent eyes
Receive a guest from Heaven, your ancient seat
Open ye, and Religion's deep retreat !
The dust of Time is on him, and Christ's mark,
Worldly reproach ; he bears the unquench'd spark
To kindle into life earth's secret womb —
To lighten or destroy, cheer or consume ;
Through chains, fire, sword, he bears thy last reprieve,
" He that receiveth you, doth Me receive ! "