Classic Poem

The Mighty One put forth his hand
And bore me to the vale of bones,
Uncountable as mountain stones
And dry as burning desert sand.

" O son of man, " he said to me,
" Can these be ever made to rise
Anew in gracious human guise? " —
I answered, " It is known to thee. "

Then bade He, " Prophesy and say,
Arise, O skeletons, and live;
And I, the Maker, I will give
Again the life I took away. "

According to His word I cried,
Whereon a shaking filled the vale,
A tremor dry as rattling hail,
While murmurs ran from side to side.

From side to side the murmurs ran,
And lo, the bones together drew,
Together closed, together grew,
Till every heap became a man.

Yea, warriors lay in thousands there,
As warriors lie along the field,
The stiffened arm within the shield,
The visage white, the eyes a-stare.

Then said He, " Prophesy again;
Uplift the hand and prophesy;
Command the winds of every sky
To breathe upon these many slain. "

Thereon I summoned, " Come, O breath!
From all the sides of heaven, come!
Inspire the armies of the dumb!
Arouse the companies of death! "

They stirred; they lifted up the head;
In awful lines of war they stood,
A mighty, living multitude
Who knew not they were ever dead.

Then said He: " Thus will I revive
The vanished ones of Israel;
Yea, I will gather them from Hell
And make their very slain alive. "