“Loosed the sacred bands of friendship, solitary stands my heart;
  Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see Thee as Thou art.

  “From Thy distant throne in glory, flash upon my inward sight,
  Fill the midnight of my spirit with the splendour of Thy light.

“All Thine other gifts and blessings, common mercies, I disown;
Separated from my brothers, I would see Thy face alone.

“I have watched and I have waited as one waiteth for the morn: 
Still the veil is never lifted, still Thou leavest me forlorn.

“Now I seek Thee in the desert, where the holy hermits dwell;
There, beside the saint Serapion, I will find a lonely cell.

“There at last Thou wilt be gracious; there Thy presence,
long-concealed,
In the solitude and silence to my heart shall be revealed.

“Thou wilt come, at dawn or twilight, o’er the rolling waves of sand;
I shall see Thee close beside me, I shall touch Thy pierced hand.

“Lo, Thy pilgrim kneels before Thee; bless my journey with a word;
Tell me now that if I follow, I shall find Thee, O my Lord!”

Felix listened:  through the darkness, like a murmur of the wind,
Came a gentle sound of stillness:  “Never faint, and thou shalt find.”

  Long and toilsome was his journey through the heavy land of heat,
  Egypt’s blazing sun above him, blistering sand beneath his feet.

  Patiently he plodded onward, from the pathway never erred,
  Till he reached the river-headland called the Mountain of the Bird.

There the tribes of air assemble, once a year, their noisy flock,
Then, departing, leave a sentinel perched upon the highest rock.

Far away, on joyful pinions, over land and sea they fly;
But the watcher on the summit lonely stands against the sky.

There the eremite Serapion in a cave had made his bed;
There the faithful bands of pilgrims sought his blessing, brought him
bread.

Month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in the rocky cleft,
Dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying; once a year the cave he left.

On that day a happy pilgrim, chosen out of all the band,
Won a special sign of favour from the holy hermit’s hand.

Underneath the narrow window, at the doorway closely sealed,
While the afterglow of sunset deepened round him, Felix kneeled.

  “Man of God, of men most holy, thou whose gifts cannot be priced! 
  Grant me thy most precious guerdon; tell me how to find the Christ.”

  Breathless, Felix bent and listened, but no answering voice he heard;
  Darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the Mountain of the Bird.

  Then he said, “The saint is silent; he would teach my soul to wait: 
  I will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at his gate.”

  Near the dwelling of the hermit Felix found a rude abode,
  In a shallow tomb deserted, close beside the pilgrim-road.