way, and before Him the Earth reeleth in the rhythm of her Bacchanal 
dance!” 
Then I knew also this: all these poor dead men that lay about 
me had been slain by their own fear, their fault of faith in deeming 
that the Sun—or any Star—could die. 
And now I, who had only felt the fear of that figure, feel the 
fascination. 
I understand that He—whoever, whatever He may be—is He for 
whom we all so long had waited. 
As I fix my eyes upon it, I become aware that its blackness 
against the light of the Star is only relative; and as I gain confidence in 
my sight, that darkness goes. The figure is a prism of pure crystal—it 
is the distortion and interference with the Light it transmits which 
caused those phantoms of terror to dance their Witches' Sabbath on 
the moving miasma. 
And now I am drawn swiftly up by some invisible force; sucked 
by some vortex towards the Hill. 
And now I face Him as He stands above me. 
  
  
Homo. 
  
His head is slightly bowed as if he brooded some delight. He 
wears a helm of ruddy gold, radiant with the light of the Star. In the 
midst of his brows is a black diamond in a circlet of ruby and emerald, 
set in pure mother-of-pearl, so that it seems the eye of some 
unknown, some unknowable God. This eye has no lid. 
But his two human eyes are still half-closed, as if in worship or in 
wonder of rapture. 
His arms are folded on his breast: upon his corslet is the golden 
image of the Sun. In his right hand is a rod of amber, crowned with a 
ruby; in his left an amethyst lotus with a sapphire corolla. 
Lo! from his eyes flow tears of mingled sorrow and joy, of joy 
that burns up sorrow, and with these tears he smites the barren rock 
beneath his feet. It melts like wax at the touch; roses spring up and 
twine about his limbs. 
Around him are four living creatures, begotten of his will, so that 
the mountain might glow with the life that flows through him. 
There is a tawny Lion, from whose mouth drops honey. 
He roars aloud, and the word thereof is this: The Wrath of the 
Master is the Energy of Love. 
There is a buffalo Cow, grey-blow, whose udders overflow with 
milk, and her lowing means: The Work of the Master is the 
Nourishment of Life.