When the souls and the hills are all prepared; when the seas are overcome,
The kingdom of all creation he delivers up as an obedient son.
The Song of the Serpent
We went to Calvary and stood just away. The prince of glory was there, in the hands of the people, who crucified him that day: Out on Judah's green hills, arrayed in the light of white and gray.
We went to watch through the ages, the things that the wicked would do. The works of the evil all the way through. They have crucified his saints in all nations of the earth. All of his saints that were true.
From the gates above Zion the Lord shall descend. His fiery wheels flaming with power—scattering the wicked of men. Who have slaughtered his saints in prisons of horrid death; whosoever were known among them.
A billion angels at his right, intermingling with others—the saints of might. Who has ascended from death, enthroned with his light. Those that were burned in the fire by the wicked, to spite. Comes inclosing the evil in their eternal dark night.
The voice of the serpent,—that whispers from the mire of the sea. Or that sigh of the evil, from the dust ascending before thee. Each soul is still weeping—each heart in sorrow alone. Or that mind of the living that fell from his great throne.
What joy thought the evil, that wandered in sorrow's broad trend. My soul has heard a wailing, as the song of the serpent by men. O souls what ail thee, its envy's dark cloud broader than the earth, and deeper than the sea. Spread over the spirits—their wicked melee.
They were a war of those that danced, in the trend of sorrow's vulgar wail. As the serpent held them by the hand, they knew that they were inshrouded in the evil dark vale. But "lo, lo," cried the company, "you shall not from us depart, for even the soul that shall fail."
Your door that stands closed, as a storm that darkens the noon. O soul of envy atroped senility that bloom. O you mind of the wicked, the close of the day has arriven so soon. No deeds of mercy, no work was begun, for in the heart of the wicked, the race was never run.
You saints as the eagle from the heavens that cry. You mountains of love all glorious and white ascending so high. O beautiful souls, Mosier's hosts, in all creation stand by. Watching over the earth and its hosts, no mind of the living can die.
O beautiful songs from the great throne that be. To the mind of all living—yet heard only by thee. The hosts of the heaven as the winds or the waves of the sea. Giving to every soul who has understanding and a portion of light for me.
Alleuher is not mocked by the race, or the evil within. Not by those who have fallen and rage, you terrors of sin: He keeps his city and its hosts of the earth and the air. The hours of the evil shall approach, but none of them shall come there, to that beautiful Zion, that city so fair.
Alleuher holds the order of life. All things in their hosts and zones. A power is with them, for they are his own. A lion and an eagle and a bull and the image of a man living in his glory, and bearing to and fro his great throne. His spirit descending through the hosts, the souls of all men is known. His salvation for his saints, his glory in order is shown.
Through the gates above Zion the hosts pass by, ascending and descending by the silvering portals. Upon that beautiful road he has built through the sky. All the earth is full of his glory as the wind, his power is nigh. His saints walk in his strength. There is no death, there is none of his hosts that ever die.
A Meditation—The Afterwhile
1. In the twilight I wandered by the old home place, and I saw it lie in wreck; all was vanity and despair. I sought for the things that belonged to my childhood days, but none of them were there.
2. The old apple tree which stood by the gate, had aged and fallen almost away. Its branches were drooped and crisp with time, through which I used to chase in games of play.
3. I looked away to the old house which stood midst the terrace blue. I thought of the days of my childhood ways, but storm and drear had changed things to an age of bronzed hue.
4. My old rose was gone which stood by the doorway, resting its hands against the wall. And seemed to watch me as I would fleet across the terrace, as if to guard against my fall.