Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE HOLY OF HOLIES 207 TO ALLAN BENNETT MACGREGOR.! O MAN of Sorrows: brother unto Grief! O pale with suffering, and dumb hours of pain! OQ worn with Thought ! springs again The Soul of Resurrection: thou art chief And lord of all thy mind: O patient thief Of God’s own fire! What mysteries find fane In the white shrine’ of thy white spirit’s reign, Thou man of Sorrows: O, beyond belief! thy purpose Let perfect Peace be with thee: let thy days Prosper in spite of thine unselfish soul ; And as thou lovest, so let Love increase Upon thee and about thee: till thy ways Gleam with the splendour of that secret goal Whose long war grows the great abiding peace. THE ROSICRUCIAN. A SA MAJESTE JACQUES IV D'ECQSSE.” I ser the centuries wax and wane. I know their mystery of pain, The secrets of the living fire, The key of life: I live: I reign: For I am master of desire. Silent, I pass amid the folk Caught in its mesh, slaves to its yoke. Silent, unknown, I work and will Redemption, godhead’s master-stroke, And breaking of the wands of ill. 1 Now a Buddhist recluse in Burma. In England he was a martyr to spasmodic asthma, which, however, could not quench, could hardly dull even, the fire of his soul. * Supposed to have escaped from Flodden, and become an Adept: to have reappeared as the ‘‘Comte de St. Germain,” and later (so hinted Mr. S. L. Mathers) as Mr. S. L. Mathers. No man hath seen beneath my brows Eternity’s exultant house. No man hath noted in my brain The knowledge of my mystic spouse. I watch the centuries wax and wane. Poor, in the kingdom of strong gold, My power is swift and uncontrolled. Simple, amid the maze of lies; A child, among the cruel old, I plot their stealthy destinies. So patient, in the breathless strife ; So silent, under scourge and knife ; So tranquil, in the surge of things ; I bring them from the well of Life, Love, from celestial water-springs ! From the shrill fountain-head of God I draw out water with the rod Made luminous with light of power. I seal each zeon’s period, And wait the moment and the hour. Aloof, alone, unloved, I stand With love and worship in my hand. I commune with the Gods: I wait Their summons, and I fire the brand. I speak their Word: and there is Fate. I know no happiness, no pain, No swift emotion, no disdain, No pity: but the boundless light Of the Eternal Love, unslain, Flows through me to redeem the night. Mine is a sad-slow life: but I, I would not gain release, and die A moment ere my task be done. To falter now were treachery— I should not dare to greet the sun! Yet, in one hour I dare not hope, The mighty gate of Life may ope, And call me upwards to unite (Even my soul within the scope) With That Unutterable Light.