The Soul of Osiris

108 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. Out of the cloudy north ; the incense-wand That binds dead souls in prison, That prison of the day, when sleepless dead Rest for awhile from agony and dread. Strange ! how a certain fear possesses me Alone amid their crag-bound solitude. Even beyond the keen delight—to Be— Steals that diviner mood Of wonder at the miracle—the plan Of Nature crowned by the astounding Man ! The secret of the Lord is set with him That wonders at His Majesty : his praise Wells from no trembler’s misery : his hymn Swells the exultant day’s. His psalm wings upward, and reflected down Even in Hell makes music and renown. Yea ! for the echo of the anthem rolls Down to the lost unfathomable deep. Down, to the darkness of all shades and souls, The founts of music sweep. Even the devils in the utter night Feel it the saving, not the avenging light. Yea ! for the worship of my secret song Vibrates through every chasm of the world : Its sound is caught by angels, and made strong : By sylphs, and dewed, and pearled