Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/All Saints

For works with similar titles, see All Saints.

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ALL SAINTS.
THEY are flocking from the EastAnd the West,They are flocking from the NorthAnd the South,Every moment setting forthFrom realm of snake or lion.Swamp or sand,Ice or burning;Greatest and least,Palm in handAnd praise in mouth,They are flocking up the pathTo their rest,Up the path that hathNo returning. ​Up the steeps of ZionThey are mounting,Coming, coming,Throngs beyond man's counting;With a soundLike innumerable beesSwarming, hummingWhere flowering treesMany tinted,Many scented,All alike aboundWith honey,—With a swellLike a blast upswaying unrestrainableFrom a shadowed dellTo the hill-tops sunny,—With a thunderLike the ocean when in strengthBreadth and lengthIt sets to shore;More and moreWaves on waves redoubled pourLeaping flashing to the shore(Unlike the underDrain of ebb that loseth groundFor all its roar).
They are throngingFrom the East and West,From the North and South, ​Saints are thronging, loving, longing,To their landOf rest,Palm in handAnd praise in mouth.

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