The Soul of Osiris

THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 119 The steep rude stair that mocks the hero’s might, Casts off the wise, and crumbles with the great. Yet from the highest crown no blossom fell, Save one, to bring salvation unto Hell. O angel of my spiritual desire ! O luminous master of the silver feet ! O passionate rose of infinite white fire ! O cross of sacrifice made bitter-sweet ! O wide-wing, star-brow, veritable lord ! O mystic bearer of the flaming sword ! O brows half see, O visionary star Seen in the fragrant breezes of the East ! O lover of my love, O avatar Of the All-One, O mystical High Priest ! O thou before whose eyes my weak eyes fail, Wonderful warden of the Holy Grail ! O thou, mine angel, whom these eyes have seen, These hands have handled, and this mouth has kissed ! O thou, the very tongue of fire, the clean Sweet-scented presence of a holier Christ ! Listen, and answer, and behold ! My wings Droop, O thou stronger than the immortal kings ! My flame burns dim ! O bring the broken jar And alabaster casket, and dispense