Introitus

PROPHET.Why dost thou bear me aloft,O Angel of God, on thy pinionsO'er realms and dominions?Softly I float as a cloudIn air, for thy right hand upholds me,Thy garment enfolds me!

ANGEL.Lo! as I passed on my wayIn the harvest-field I beheld thee,When no man compelled thee,Bearing with thine own handsThis food to the famishing reapers,A flock without keepers!

The fragrant sheaves of the wheatMade the air above them sweet;Sweeter and more divineWas the scent of the scattered grain,That the reaper's hand let fallTo be gathered againBy the hand of the gleaner!Sweetest, divinest of all,Was the humble deed of thine,And the meekness of thy demeanor!

PROPHET.Angel of Light,I cannot gainsay thee,I can but obey thee!

ANGEL.Beautiful was it in the lord's sight,To behold his ProphetFeeding those that toil,The tillers of the soil.But why should the reapers eat of itAnd not the Prophet of ZionIn the den of the lion?The Prophet should feed the Prophet!Therefore I thee have uplifted,And bear thee aloft by the hairOf thy head, like a cloud that is driftedThrough the vast unknown of the air!Five days hath the Prophet been lyingIn Babylon, in the denOf the lions, death-defying,Defying hunger and thirst;But the worstIs the mockery of men!Alas! how full of fearIs the fate of Prophet and Seer!Forevermore, forevermore,It shall be as it hath been heretofore;The age in which they liveWill not forgiveThe splendor of the everlasting light,That makes their foreheads bright,Nor the sublimeFore-running of their time!

PROPHET.Oh tell me, for thou knowest,Wherefore and by what grace,Have I, who am least and lowest,Been chosen to this place,To this exalted part?

ANGEL.Because thou artThe Struggler; and from thy youthThy humble and patient lifeHath been a strifeAnd battle for the Truth;Nor hast thou paused nor halted,Nor ever in thy prideTurned from the poor aside,But with deed and word and penHast served thy fellow-men;Therefore art thou exalted!

PROPHET.By thine arrow's lightThou goest onward through the night,And by the clearSheen of thy glittering spear!When will our journey end?

ANGEL.Lo, it is ended!Yon silver gleamIs the Euphrates' stream.Let us descendInto the city splendid,Into the City of Gold!

PROPHET.Behold!As if the stars had fallen from their placesInto the firmament below,The streets, the gardens, and the vacant spacesWith light are all aglow;And hark!As we draw near,What sound is it I hearAscending through the dark?

ANGEL.The tumultuous noise of the nations,Their rejoicings and lamentations,The pleadings of their prayer,The groans of their despair,The cry of their imprecations,Their wrath, their love, their hate!

PROPHET.Surely the world doth waitThe coming of its Redeemer!

ANGEL.Awake from thy sleep, O dreamer?The hour is near, though late;Awake! write the vision sublime,The vision, that is for a time,Though it tarry, wait; it is nigh;In the end it will speak and not lie.