CANTO SEVEN
The Arcana Of The Infinite[1]
Flake upon flake, then slide succeeding slide,
The marvel and the wonder multiplied.
Garnered in one vast mind[2] the glacial store,
The glittering avalanche of heavenly lore,
Whose living streams shall slake the burning thirst
Of time unborn, of nations yet unnurst;
Torrent of truth, river of prophecy, 1990
Rolling through worlds to find fulfillment's sea.
He stands, as Moses on the mystic mount,
Where knowledge pours from wisdom's purest fount;
Stands 'neath the droppings of the crystal eaves,
Stands on the loftiest summit man achieves,
Where light eternal—was, is, and to be—
'Lumines the vistas of immensity,
The ultimates of human destiny.
He walks and talks with God, as friend with friend;
He reads the Book of Time from end to end, 2000
And in the Volume of Eternity
Peruses past and far futurity;
Ranges to realms of wider mystery—
Ne'er-ending hope, ne'er-ending history;
While from all depths that sink, all heights that soar,
Come voices, visions, of the Evermore.
Like unto like, above, beneath, the skies,
Deep calls to deep, and faith to faith replies.
He hears the solemn dispensations[3] chime,
From morn till eve, from birth to death, of time; 2010
He notes the markings of the horologe,
The set times of the great unerring Judge;
Then sees those dispensations as they run
Their 'lotted course, like hours 'twixt sun and sun.
Wave after wave rolls o'er the shining sand,
Wave after wave breaks higher up the strand,
With all of weal or woe the ages send.
As sundered ocean tides that shoreward tend,
Now past and future o'er the present pend,
Till on the narrow isthmus sea meets sea, 2020
And time no longer parts eternity.
He hears the soundings of the trumpets seven[4],
Whose angels, stooping from the heights of heaven,
Proclaim, in tones to rend the echoing spheres,
The secrets of the Seven Thousand Years;
The secret of a book with seven seals,
That all of mortal mystery reveals;
Man's course, God's chronicle, life's tale told true,
Nor tinged with favor's tint, with hatred's hue;
Earth's week of history, whose sabbath chime 2030
Summons to rest the weary soul of time.
The Holy Order[5] that for aye hath reigned,
For loyal faith and lofty deeds ordained;
The all-creating, all-controlling chain,
Whereby the Gods perpetuate their reign,
Whereby the higher, bending, lift the lower;
Wielding the sceptre of Almighty Power,
Ruling by right the nations, ill aware
Whence came the thrones that have been, thrones that
are; 2040
Which sets up one and puts another down,
Their fate proclaimed as fortune's smile or frown;
The power that reigns not save in righteousness,
Persuades in meekness, chastens but to bless;
The might of heaven, the pure and potent chain
Stainless, save mortal links their lustre stain,
And plunged through fire are purified again,
He sees extending through the storms of time,
Anchor and cable of a ship sublime.
Pilots of life on death's fierce tempest tossed, 2050
Love's legionaries, saviors of the lost;
A sacred army's solemn pride and boast,
The janissaries of the heavenly host;
The jeweled circlet of the Central Gem,
Jehovah's body-guard—the Gibborim.