Collected Works (Vol. I)

2190 THE TEMPLE OF THE HOLY GHOST O thou, mine angel, whom these eyes have seen, These hands have handled, 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 ! and _ this My flame burns dim! O bring the broken jar And alabaster casket, and dispense The oil that flows from that supernal star, And holy fountains of the Influence.! Bring peace, and strength, and quicken in my heart Mastery of night-fear and the day-flung dart. , Yea! from the limit of the fallen day, And barren ocean of ungathered Time, Bring Night, and bring Eternity, and stay With white wings pointing where tired feet may climb: Even the pathway where shed blood ran deep To build red roses in the land of Sleep. O guardian of the pallid hours of night ! O tireless watcher of the smitten noon ! O sworded with the majesty of light, O girded with the glory of the moon ! Angel of absolute splendour! Link mine Old weary spirit with the All-Divine! of Ship that shalt carry me by many winds Driven on the limitless ocean! Mighty sword, By which I force that barrier of the mind’s Miscomprehension of its own true lord ! Listen, and answer, and behold my brow Fiery with hope! Bend down, and touch it now ! 1 From Kether, the Vast Countenance, are said to flow ‘' 13 fountains of magnificent oil”’ through Mezla, the Influence, upon Tiphereth, thejLesser Countenance. Press the twin dawn of thy desirous lips In the swart masses of my hair ; bend close, And shroud all earth in masterless eclipse, While my heart’s murmur through thy being flows, To carry up the prayer, as incense teems Skyward, to those immeasurable streams ! Breathe the creative Sigh upon my mouth That even the body may become the soul: Cry, as the chainéd Eagle of the South, ‘* A house of death,” ! and make my spirit whole! Touch with pure balm the five mysterious wounds ! Come! come away! but not your mighty sounds !2 O wind of all the world! O silent river ! O sea of seas! O flower of all the flowers O fire! O spirit! Beam thou on for ever Through zons of illimitable hours ! Kiss thou my forehead, let thy tender breath Woo me to life, and my desire to death ! I shall be ready for it by-and-by, That sharp Initiation, when the whole Body is torn with sundering pangs, and I, The very conscious essence of the soul, Am rent with agony, as when the pale Christ heard the shriek of the dividing veil. That awful mystery, its heart torn out, Palpitates on the altar-stone of life : That broken self, that hears the triumph- shout Of its own voice beneath the falling knife, When, like a bad dream changing, swiftly grows A new soul's joy, a fuller-petalled rose. Many the spirits broken for one man ; Many the men that perish to create One God the more ; many the weary and wan Old Gods that die to constitute a Fate: Flow many Fates then, think you, must control The stainless aspiration of the soul? 1 See the ‘48 Calls or Keys” of Dr. Dee, from which this is quoted.