"The stern behest of duty,
The doom-book open thrown,
The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear,
Are with yourselves alone."
. . . . .
A gold and purple sunset
Flowed down the broad Moselle;
On hills of vine and meadow lands
The peace of twilight fell.
A slow, cool wind of evening
Blew over leaf and bloom;
And, faint and far, the Angelus
Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb.
Then up rose Master Echard,
And marvelled: "Can it be
That here, in dream and vision,
The Lord hath talked with me?"
He went his way; behind him
The shrines of saintly dead,
The holy coat and nail of cross,
He left unvisited.
He sought the vale of Eltzbach
His burdened soul to free,
Where the foot-hills of the Eifel
Are glassed in Laachersee.
And, in his Order's kloster,
He sat, in night-long parle,
With Tauler of the Friends of God,
And Nicolas of Basle.
And lo! the twain made answer
"Yea, brother, even thus
The Voice above all voices
Hath spoken unto us.
"The world will have its idols,
And flesh and sense their sign
But the blinded eyes shall open,
And the gross ear be fine.