"The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, Broods o’er the hazy, twinkling air; Along the level sand The palm-tree’s shade unwavering lies, Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise To greet yon wearied band.The leader of that martial crew Seems bent some mighty deed to do, So steadily he speeds, With lips firm closed and fixed eye, Like warrior when the fight is nigh, Nor talk nor landscape heeds.What sudden blaze is round him poured, As though all Heaven’s refulgent hoard In one rich glory shone? One moment,—and to earth he falls: What voice his inmost heart appalls?— Voice heard by him alone.For to the rest both words and form Seem lost in lightning and in storm, While Saul, in wakeful trance, Sees deep within that dazzling field His persecuted Lord revealed With keen yet pitying glance;And hears the meek upbraiding call As gently on his spirit fall, As if th’ Almighty Son Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, Nor had proclaimed his royal birth, Nor his great power begun.“Ah! wherefore persecut’st thou me?” He heard and saw, and sought to free His strained eye from the sight: But Heaven’s high magic bound it there, Still gazing, though untaught to bear Th’ insufferable light."