From Out A Windy Cleft There Comes A Gaze Of Eyes Unearthly, Which Go To And Fro Upon The People'S Tumult, For Below The Nations Smite Each Other: No Amaze Troubles Their Liquid Rolling, Or Affrays Their Deep-Set Contemplation; Steadily Glow Those Ever Holier Eyeballs, For They Grow Liker Unto The Eyes Of One That Prays. And If Those Clasped Hands Tremble, Comes A Power As Of The Might Of Worlds, And They Are Holden Blessing Above Us In The Sunrise Golden; And They Will Be Uplifted Till That Hour Of Terrible Rolling Which Shall Rise And Shake This Conscious Nightmare From Us, And We Wake.