The Demon of Darkness,—an Angel of Light!
Each gazes on each,—no barrier between—
And the quivering rocks shrink aghast from the scene!
The sword of the angel waves free in the air;
Death looks to his quiver,—no arrow is there!
He falls like a pyramid, crumbled and torn;
And a vision of light on his dying eye borne,
In glory reveals the blest souls of the slain,—
And he sees that his sceptre was transient and vain;
For, 'mid the bright throng, e'en the infant he slew,