I am not here alone. A hidden throng 
Is round me in the vesper of the sky. 
Dead Babylon and Nineveh are nigh; 
Rome, Antioch; the slave who felt the thong; 
The lord that slew him when the day was long 
And the soul heavy with satiety. 
And some are near who saw the Christ go by; 
While Pilate shut aloof, at gaze with wrong. 
And what are they these ministers surround? 
The cliff, the sand, the island at my feet 
Reef-scattered far below all human ken. 
Lo! God hath made a mighty angel beat 
His wings, a benediction in their sound, 
Above the roof of the most forlorn of men