ALEXANDER
There was a man whom all men called The Great. Low lying on his death-bed, we are told, He bade his courtiers (when he should be cold, Breathless, and silent in his last estate, And they who were to bury him should wait Outside the palace) that no cerecloth’s fold Or winding-sheet should round his hands be rolled: Those helpless hands that once had ruled the state! Thus spake he: “On the black pall let them lie, Empty and lorn, that all the world may see How of his riches there was nothing left To Alexander when he came to die.” Lord of two worlds, as treasureless was he As any beggar of his crust bereft!
THE PLACE
“I GO TO PREPARE A PLACE FOR YOU”
I.
O Holy Place, we know not where thou art! Though one by one our well-beloved dead From our close claspings to thy bliss have fled, They send no word back to the breaking heart; And if, perchance, their angels fly athwart The silent reaches of the abyss wide-spread, The swift white-wings we see not, but instead Only the dark void keeping us apart. Where did he set thee, O thou Holy Place? Made he a new world in the heavens high hung, So far from this poor earth that even yet Its first glad rays have traversed not the space That lies between us, nor their glory flung On the old home its sons can ne’er forget?
II.
But what if on some fair, auspicious night, Like that on which the shepherds watched of old, Down from far skies, in burning splendor rolled, Shall stream the radiance of a star more bright Than ever yet hath shone on mortal sight— Swift shafts of light, like javelins of gold, Wave after wave of glory manifold, From zone to zenith flooding all the height? And what if, moved by some strange inner sense, Some instinct, than pure reason wiser far, Some swift clairvoyance that annulleth space, All men shall cry, with sudden joy intense, “Behold, behold this new resplendent star— Our heaven at last revealed!—the Place! the Place!”
III.
Then shall the heavenly host with one accord Veil their bright faces in obeisance meet, While swift they haste the Glorious One to greet. Then shall Orion own at last his Lord, And from his belt unloose the blazing sword, While pale proud Ashtaroth with footsteps fleet, Her jewelled crown drops humbly at his feet, And Lyra strikes her harp’s most rapturous chord. O Earth, bid all your lonely isles rejoice! Break into singing, all ye silent hills; And ye, tumultuous seas, make quick reply! Let the remotest desert find a voice! The whole creation to its centre thrills, For the new light of Heaven is in the sky!