VI.

When from their lurking place the Voice Of God dragged forth that fallen pair, Still seemed the garden to rejoice; The sinless Eden still was fair.

They, they alone, whose light of grace But late made Paradise look dim, Stood now, a blot upon its face, Before their God; nor gazed on Him.

They glanced not up; or they had seen In that severe, death-dooming eye Unutterable depths serene Of sadly-piercing sympathy.

Not them alone that Eye beheld, But, by their side, that other Twain, In whom the race whose doom was knelled Once more should rise; once more should reign.

It saw that Infant crowned with blood;— And her from whose predestined breast That Infant ruled the worlds. She stood, Her foot upon the serpent's crest!

Voice of primeval prophecy! She who makes glad whatever heart Adores her Son and Saviour, she In thee, that hour, possessed a part!