The Soul of Osiris

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.