St. John Baptist

I think he had not heard of the far towns; Nor of the deeds of men, nor of kings' crowns; Before the thought of God took hold of him, As he was sitting dreaming in the calm Of one first noon, upon the desert's rim, Beneath the tall fair shadows of the palm, All overcome with some strange inward balm. He numbered not the changes of the year, The days, the nights, and he forgot all fear Of death: each day he thought there should have been A shining ladder set for him to climb Athwart some opening in the heavens, e'en To God's eternity, and see, sublime — His face whose shadow passing fills all time. But he walked through the ancient wilderness. O, there the prints of feet were numberless And holy all about him I And quite plain He saw each spot an angel silver-shod Had lit upon; where Jacob too had lain The place seemed fresh, — and, bright and lately trod, A long track showed where Enoch walked with God. And often, while the sacred darkness trailed Along the mountains smitten and unveiled By rending lightnings, — over all the noise Of thunders and the earth that quaked and bowed From its foundations — he could hear the voice Of great Elias prophesying loud To Him whose face was covered by a cloud.