The Death of Moses

Moses, who spake with God as with his friend,And ruled his people with the twofold powerOf wisdom that can dare and still be meek,Was writing his last word, the sacred nameUnutterable of that Eternal WillWhich was and is and evermore shall be.Yet was his task not finished, for the flockNeeded its shepherd and the life-taught sageLeaves no successor; but to chosen men.The rescuers and guides of Israel,A death was given called the Death of Grace,Which freed them from the burden of the fleshBut left them rulers of the multitudeAnd loved companions of the lonely. ThisWas God's last gift to Moses, this the hourWhen soul must part from self and be but soul.

God spake to Gabriel, the messengerOf mildest death that draws the parting lifeGently, as when a little rosy childLifts up its lips from off the bowl of milkAnd so draws forth a curl that dipped its goldIn the soft white — thus Gabriel draws the soul."Go bring the soul of Moses unto me!"And the awe-stricken angel answered, "Lord,How shall I dare to take his life who livesSole of his kind, not to be likened onceIn all the generations of the earth? "

Then God called Michaël, him of pensive brow,Snow-vest and flaming sword, who knows and acts:"Go bring the spirit of Moses unto me!"But Michaël with such grief as angels feel,Loving the mortals whom they succor, pled:"Almighty, spare me; it was I who taughtThy servant Moses; he is part of meAs I of thy deep secrets, knowing them."

Then God called Zamaël, the terrible,The angel of fierce death, of agonyThat comes in battle and in pestilenceRemorseless, sudden or with lingering throes.And Zamaël, his raiment and broad wingsBlood-tinctured, the dark lustre of his eyesShrouding the red, fell like the gathering nightBefore the prophet. But that radianceWon from the heavenly presence in the mountGleamed on the prophet's brow and dazzling piercedIts conscious opposite: the angel turnedHis murky gaze aloof and inly said:"An angel this, deathless to angel's stroke."

But Moses felt the subtly nearing dark:"Who art thou? and what wilt thou?" Zamaël then:"I am God's reaper; through the fields of lifeI gather ripened and unripened soulsBoth willing and unwilling. And I comeNow to reap thee." But Moses cried.Firm as a seer who waits the trusted sign:"Reap thou the fruitless plant and common herb—Not him who from the womb was sanctifiedTo teach the law of purity and love."And Zamaël baffled from his errand fled.

But Moses, pausing, in the air sereneHeard now that mystic whisper, far yet near,The all-penetrating Voice, that said to him,"Moses, the hour is come and thou must die.""Lord, I obey; but thou rememberestHow thou, Ineffable, didst take me onceWithin thy orb of light untouched by death."Then the voice answered, "Be no more afraid:With me shall be thy death and burial."So Moses waited, ready now to die.

And the Lord came, invisible as a thought.Three angels gleaming on his secret track.Prince Michaël, Zagaël, Gabriel, charged to guardThe soul-forsaken body as it fellAnd bear it to the hidden sepulchreDenied forever to the search of man.And the Voice said to Moses: "Close thine eyes."He closed them. "Lay thine hand upon thine heart.And draw thy feet together." He obeyed.And the Lord said, "O spirit! child of mine!A hundred years and twenty thou hast dweltWithin this tabernacle wrought of clay.This is the end: come forth and flee to heaven."

But the grieved soul with plaintive pleading cried,"I love this body with a clinging love:The courage fails me. Lord, to part from it."

"O child, come forth! for thou shalt dwell with meAbout the immortal throne where seraphs joyIn growing vision and in growing love."

Yet hesitating, fluttering, like the birdWith young wing weak and dubious, the soulStayed. But behold! upon the death-dewed lipsA kiss descended, pure, unspeakable—The bodiless Love without embracing LoveThat lingered in the body, drew it forthWith heavenly strength and carried it to heaven.

But now beneath the sky the watchers all,Angels that keep the homes of IsraelOr on high purpose wander o'er the worldLeading the Gentiles, felt a dark eclipse:The greatest ruler among men was gone.And from the westward sea was heard a wail,A dirge as from the isles of Javanim,Crying, "Who now is left upon the earthLike him to teach the right and smite the wrong?"And from the East, far o'er the Syrian waste,Came slowlier, sadlier, the answering dirge:"No prophet like him lives or shall ariseIn Israel or the world forevermore."

But Israel waited, looking toward the mount.Till with the deepening eve the elders cameSaying, "His burial is hid with God.We stood far off and saw the angels liftHis corpse aloft until they seemed a starThat burnt itself away within the sky."

The people answered with mute orphaned gazeLooking for what had vanished evermore.Then through the gloom without them and withinThe spirit's shaping light, mysterious speech,Invisible Will wrought clear in sculptured sound,The thought-begotten daughter of the voice,Thrilled on their listening sense: "He has no tomb.He dwells not with you dead, but lives as Law."