Who towers aloft, as mountain girt with hills,
Amid the strength of Ephraim's stalwart sons,
To trumpet thus the closing acts of time?
Speak, oracle, what sayest thou of thyself? 1100
Who art thou, man of might and majesty?
"Would God I might but tell thee who I am!
Would God I might but tell thee what I know[10]!"
Then was he of the Mighty—one with those
Descended from the Empire of the Sun,
Adown the glowing stairway of the stars?
Regnant and ruling ere they left the realms
Of life supernal, left their sovereign thrones,
To wander oft as outcasts of mankind,
Unknown, unhonored, e'en like One who came 1110
Unto His own, by them spat on and spurned?
Avails it aught, their name or nation here?
Their state and standing there, the vital tale.
Peers of that Empire, nobles of the skies,
The sceptered satraps of the King of Kings,
The royal retinue of Him who reigns
First-born of many brethren—Gibborim[11],
Great ones worthy the Word[12] that was to come;
Foreknown, elect, predestined, preordained,
Sons of the Gods, and saviours of mankind, 1120
Building the highway for Messiah's feet,
And wheresoe'er He fareth following.
I saw in vision such a one descend,
And garb him in a guise of common clay;
His glory veiling from the gaze of all,
Who wist not that a great one walked with men;
Nor knew it then the soul incarnate there,
Betwixt the temporal and spirit spheres
So dense forgetfulness doth intervene;
Yet learned his truth betime by angel tongues, 1130
By voice of God, by heavenly whisperings.
But who remains his mystery to solve,
His letter to unlock with spirit key?
The veil to lift by death and silence thrown
O'er all the splendors of that life sublime?
Sound, Angel, sound! thou fifth of seven[13], ordained
To usher in the world-millennials,
To storm the dungeon doors of history,
And liberate the thoughts and deeds of men!
Sound, trump of God! Voice of a thousand years, 1140
Call of the Christ—His clear familiar tone,
Heard in the ages and the aeons past,
Told to the times and worlds that went before;
Call of the Spirit, answered by the blood,
Voice of the Shepherd, by the sheep well known.
A living prophet unto dying time,
Heralding the Dispensation of the End,
When Christ once more His vineyard comes to prune,
When potent weak confound the puny strong,
Threshing the nations by the Spirit's power, 1150
Rending the kingdoms with a word of flame;
That here the Father's work may crown the Son's,
And earth be joined a holy bride to heaven,
A queen 'mid queens, crowned, throned, and glorified.
Wherefore came down this angel of the dawn,
In strength divine, a stirring role to play
In time's tense tragedy, whose acts are seven.
His part to fell the false, replant the true,
To clear away the wreckage of the past,
The ashes of its dead and dying creeds, 1160
And kindle newly on earth's ancient shrine
The Light that points to Life unerringly;
Crowning what has been with what now must be;
A mighty still bespeaking mightier.
—-