I saw, in visions of the night,
Creation like a sea outspread,
With surf of stars and storm of light
And movements manifold and dread.
Then lo, within a Human Hand
A Sceptre moved that storm above:
Thereon, as on the golden wand
Of kings new-crowned, there sat a Dove.
Beneath her gracious weight inclined
That Sceptre drooped. The waves had rest
And Sceptre, Hand, and Dove were shrined
Within a glassy ocean's breast.
His Will it was that placed her there!
He at whose word the tempests cease
Upon that Sceptre planted fair
That peace-bestowing type of Peace!