THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 
105 
Ocean, and night that is not night, 
 The mother-mediator. 
 
O sacred spirit of the Gods ! 
 O triple tongue !  Descend, 
Lapping the answering flame than nods, 
 Kissing the brows that bend, 
Uniting all earth’s periods 
 To one exalted end. 
 
Still on the mystic Tree of Life 
 My soul is crucified ; 
Still strikes the sacrificial knife 
 Where lurks some serpent-eyed 
Fear, passion, or man’s deadly wife 
 Desire, the suicide ! 
 
Before me dwells the Holy One 
 Anointed Beauty’s King ; 
Behind me, mightier than the Sun, 
 To whom the cherubs sing, 
A strong archangel, known of none, 
 Comes crowned and conquering. 
 
An angel stands on my right hand 
 With strength of ocean’s wrath ; 
Upon my left the fiery brand, 
 Charioted fire smites forth : 
Four great archangels to withstand 
 The furies of the path.