Classic Poem

Of all the Powers in Heaven or Hell,
Who stood in grace, or madly fell,
None wears a countenance like his,
Death's silent Angel, Azrael

Men shuddering mark him from afar,
High as the hills eternal are;
And far behind his locks of flame
Stream, like a dread portentous star:

From canopy of shrouding gloom
Dimly his pallid features loom, —
Lips locked as are the gates of Hell,
Enclosing words of nameless doom.

But most of all men seek to flee
His eyes' unfathomed mystery,
Deep sunk beneath his lowering brow,
Like caverns by a moonlit sea.

But once the leaves of life are sere,
When draws the darkling Shadow near,
Men, time-bewearied, gaze anew,
And gazing still, forget to fear —

A trailing glory crowns his head, —
A light from Heaven's high portals shed;
His parted lips are voiceless still,
But smile the benison unsaid.

Meeting those eyes divinely deep,
Eyes sorrow-laden cease to weep;
Life's night-long fever-dream is done,
God's pitying Angel beckons, — " Sleep "

Of all the Powers in Heaven or Hell,
Who stood in grace, or madly fell,
None wears a countenance like his,
Death's silent Angel, Azrael