His last exile, like the first,
Heard cries of grief on every side;
His lovers feared to lose Him,
And many men and women cried.
The ship that carried God’s own Voice,
Blessed beyond all vessels gone,
Made a cross, of its choice,
To bring each wailing soul to song.
Though song from such a primal past,
Is buried beneath these feeble letters,
It’s agony beyond our paradise lost,
And beauty blinding peacock feathers .