Konx Om Pax

THE STONE OF THE PHILOSOPHERS 103 To cut the story short, we skip A year or two, and in we chip (lnvigorated by our rest) Just where the jury at the ’Quest At the Asylum duly find “Suicide while of Unsound Mind.” This time we skip from earth to heaven God stands among the Spirits Seven. The Seven Lamps about Him flame. Myriad archangels cry His name. Millions of elders, prophets, preachers, Saints, martyrs, virgins, hermits, teachers, Angels, evangelists, apostles All singing like a lot of throstles All out of tune with one another, And every one a Plymouth Brother, With praise set heaven in a whirl. Up slinks the poor bedevilled Earl, Saved after all! The grateful tears Course down his cheeks for several years. But when he pulls himself together And gets accustomed to the weather He wants to poke his fingers in To see if God is genuine. Too soon be stripped (this cunning clod !) Gilt off the gingerbread of God; And sipping His nepenthe clear, Sniffed “ Bah! plain gin and gingerbeer” —That night he happened to be sick: “ Poisoned,” he yelled, “ with Arsenic !" He left—his boomerang suspicions Created hosts of Black Magicians.