A golden mist Now hides them from us, and envelops us And all the mountains in a luminous shadow! I see no more.

The nearest rocks are hidden.
VOICE from the cloud.
Lo! this is my beloved Son! Hear Him! PETER.
It is the voice of God.

He speaketh to us, As from the burning bush He spake to Moses! JOHN.
The cloud-wreaths roll away.

The veil is lifted; We see again.

Behold! He is alone.
It was a vision that our eyes beheld, And it hath vanished into the unseen.
CHRISTUS, coming down from the mountain.
I charge ye, tell the vision unto no one, Till the Son of Man is risen from the dead! PETER, aside.
Again He speaks of it! What can it mean, This rising from the dead?
JAMES.
Why say the Scribe! Elias must first come?
CHRISTUS.
He cometh first, Restoring all things.