English poem
The Eleven
by Mary Howitt (1799–1888)
The Lord is ascending!— Rich welcomes to give him: See, angels descending!— The heavens receive him!
See, angels, archangels Bend down to adore!— The Lord hath ascended, We see him no more!
The Master is taken; The friend hath departed; Yet we are not forsaken, Nor desolate-hearted!
The Master is taken; The holy, the kind; But the joy of his presence, Remaineth behind!
Our hearts burned within us To hear but the word Which he spake, ere our spirits Acknowledged the Lord!
The Lord hath ascended! Our hope is secure, We trusted not lightly;— The promise is sure;
The Lord hath ascended; And we his true-hearted, Go forth with rejoicing, Though he hath departed!