At Morning Tide

At morning tide, Upon the hill of Sliabh-na-mBan, I saw the dead Christ glorified! His body, like the risen sun, Was all too bright to look upon: The blue air burned About him: in his side And hands and feet there shone (Thro' stabs and gashes gaping wide) The golden glory of his blood: The gilly stood Upon his right hand: at his feet The fishers, Peter, James and John, Knelt worshipping With outstretched arms, and eyes To heaven turned: And Maria, his mother sweet, (The partner of his mysteries), And Magdalen and Salome Came thro' the doorway of the day Behind him, weeping. . . . . Then a cloud came o'er My senses, and I saw and heard no more!