The dream shall be fulfilled. Throughout all time
All dreams shall hail this dream a holy thing
That hath chosen from all days this holy day
To wake and run. While from the Sepulcher
God rolls the stone back, the dream opens hell
And slips the dogs while angels have the world.
Henceforth the Angel of the Resurrection,
Hand in hand with the hunter's dream, shall run
With fiery feet over the ages leaving
Luminous the eyes of holy men.
For me this is a great day. From the clouds
The purposes of God, in fold on fold,
Fall round and mantle me with light. Pierre,
In what dread shape came Blindness through the halls
Of the abbey, feeling for the brother's eyes
In the darkness? What did he say when God
With one blow blotted out the moon and sun
Forever, and the faces of his friends?
Forgiveness did he cry for, for the things—
But that is past. I have been and shall be,
Yesterday and to-morrow, Benedict.
To-day, as nameless as the stars of heaven,
Forgetful of all injuries like the winds,
I rush about the earth and, like the lightning,
Will strike where God shall throw me. Like the rain,
I shall fall mercifully on hot eyes that lit
But a few hours before with pride and scorn
But now are dark forever.
Pierre— Oh! Oh! Oh!
Father Benedict—I will not say that. God in his power can make
The blind earth fill the sockets of the blind
With balls as bright as orbs of seraphim,
Or without eyes can fill the soul with light.
Your brother, Pierre, fell upon the dark—
My brother; I will say it and forgive—
Our brother fell on darkness not last night,
But long since turned his shining face away
From light, and gradually as the sun
Sinks, sank low down where sun and moon and stars
Say, "Vanity!" and the grave is over all.
(The sobbing of Pierre is heard.)
But he shall rise. I thank God for this power.
It shall be to my glory that for hate
I returned love. Vengeance is His, and I
Simply a wind to blow and do His will.
God shall have praise, but I shall have praise, too.
Names shall be written high and lamps shall burn
Under them, so that all the saints may see.
(He comes out in the street and stands looking in the direction in which the men went, talking to himself.)
Then some who with high heads walked this low earth—
'Tis not my prayer, but if God so decide—
What a day will bring forth no man can—
(Turning back.)
Pierre,
Did he speak of me when the blow fell? Did he say,
"I wronged that holy man"? Did he say that?
With what word bade he farewell to the stars?
Did not remorse—Why do you look at me
With eyes of horror?
Pierre— (Shuddering.)
Out into the dark
As if to—