Scarce had she spoke, when that cherubic car,
Instinct with soul, and those self-moving wheels,
That whirl'd the holy sage from Chebar far,
Appear'd: — my breast the rushing impulse feels!
I see, I see thy glittering turrets rise,
Celestial Salem, all of lucid gold,
Inlaid with gems of thousand, thousand dyes!
And lo, the everlasting gates unfold
Their doors of pearl, and o'er my aching sight
Full tides of glory flow, and streams of living light!