Classic Poem

Midst this fiery woe, —
Struck suddenly, as out of vertical space, —
Once more the blazing swordstar shewed in Heaven;
Which many, fearful, deemed, if brandished then
By the same hand as first, would cleave in twain
Their self accursed sphere, and hurl its dust,
With them, for aye, into the deadly void.

Near and more near on waves of light it rode,
Swiftly triumphing, and with blinding beam,
Till full above the centre of the orb —
The conflagration of the sphere self-quelled,
As though in presence of a mightier power —
Slowly descending, it alit at last,
And upright stood; — no more a flaming sword,
But sunbright cross; 'neath whose redemptive light,
And restorative radiance, all the seeds
Of life leapt upwards in the face of Heaven.

There now it stands, and all who will, may live,
Seeking its light. Alas for creature will!
The darkness and the light still stand opposed,
Ceaseless, as is the war 'tween good and ill,
Which win and lose eternally in turn;
While these vivific globules, stars y'cleped,
Roll through the veins galactic of the Heavens: —
So long as lasts Creation.

Go, I said, thou pure
And selfless spirit! Take thou this golden key, —
Which saying, I from out my bosom took
The true and triple key of all the worlds,
Which nought may let; which opes whatever can
Be shut, and shuts whate'er be oped; which turns
The wards of Heaven's own gates of solid light,
The portals of the palace of the Sun —
No eye create shall else behold; — and placed
In her pure palm. This take and ope, I said
The prison wherein she groaning — dying — lies.
Restore her to the vital light. Strike off
The manacles from her hands; and from her feet

Loosen the gory fetters; in her wounds
Pour thou the oil of peace, and wash with streams
Of living waters. Clothe her with thyself
As thou art clothed. O cheer her heart with hope
And inspiration of thy faith, and say
I sent thee to redeem her. Tell her, still,
My love hath never altered; not in grief, —
In passion not, not in disgrace, nor guilt; —
Howe'er inconstant her heart, or opposed,
Her love I with an everlasting love; —
The one am I unchanging; — what beside
Thou wilt, for thou canst only utter truth.
Go! and may He who over-orders all,
Speed thee upon thy quest.

She, wordless, went,
But looked her thanks — which seemed to promise full
Accomplishment of precept — on a wind
Wafting herself away.

I, who, while all
That dark defection reigned, had warned in vain —
Now having seen in recompense most dear
Heaven's own eternal standard planted there,
As in all orbs, triumphant; and once more
By this dear monitor, this God-gift moved,
That sphere to quit; — first in myself resolved
The mighty stream of Time to pass, which bounds
And separates the realms of sense and soul
From Heaven's eternal spirit-land, that I,
Might to the sire of all which live, present
For all, the supplications of my heart: —
And that the prayerful love of that bright maid
For her beloved sister might receive,
The seal of G OD'S acceptance.

On this high
And arduousest emprise behold me bound; —
Yet, ere I left my cloudlet car, whence late
I marked that world-wreck, once again I gazed
Thitherward, and beheld before the gates
Of a half-buried palace — black as death.
Its marble portals — locked in blest emorace,
The well-beloved twain.