Peace to the throneless dead, hail to the ruler who comes,

King of a million tombs, and king of a hundred years!"

Time and his tenant Death, for the space of a moment's flight

Stand on the bare, black ridge dividing eternities twain;

One looks back to his realm all waste in the hopeless night,

One with the eyes of hope sees it rebuilded again.

Behind are the gray, gleaned fields with their worthless stubble of graves,

Strewn with the thistles of sin, and the trampled chaff of desire;

[19]

Before are the acres of love, not furrowed by hands of slaves,

Not sown with sorrow and strife, not wasted with flood or with fire.

Great is the hour, my Soul, and great is the wonder to see;

Prophet-like dost thou look to yonder portentous sky

Where lo! the scroll is unfolding—the scroll of the great To Be:—

Look to the east, O Soul, and clear and strong be thine eye!

Look to the west where once waved the cherubic sword

Over man's Eden lost, and see in the heavens above

Not the angels of wrath bearing God's angry word,

But the angels of Mercy and Peace, the angels of Hope and of Love.

Great is the hour, O Soul, and great are the voices to hear—

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