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