_Second Semichorus._ There, a sough of glory Shall breathe on you as you come, Ruffling round the doorway All the light of angeldom. From the empyrean centre Heavenly voices shall repeat, "Souls redeemed and pardoned, enter, For the chrism on you is sweet!" And every angel in the place Lowlily shall bow his face, Folded fair on softened sounds, Because upon your hands and feet He images his Master's wounds. Listen to our loving! _First Semichorus._ So, in the universe's Consummated undoing, Our seraphs of white mercies Shall hover round the ruin. Their wings shall stream upon the flame As if incorporate of the same In elemental fusion; And calm their faces shall burn out With a pale and mastering thought, And a steadfast looking of desire From out between the clefts of fire,-- While they cry, in the Holy's name, To the final Restitution. Listen to our loving! _Second Semichorus._ So, when the day of God is To the thick graves accompted, Awaking the dead bodies, The angel of the trumpet Shall split and shatter the earth To the roots of the grave-- Which never before were slackened-- And quicken the charnel birth With his blast so clear and brave That the Dead shall start and stand erect, And every face of the burial-place Shall the awful, single look reflect Wherewith he them awakened. Listen to our loving! _First Semichorus._ But wild is the horse of Death! He will leap up wild at the clamour Above and beneath. And where is his Tamer On that last day, When he crieth Ha, ha! To the trumpet's blare, And paweth the earth's Aceldama? When he tosseth his head, The drear-white steed, And ghastlily champeth the last moon-ray-- What angel there Can lead him away, That the living may rule for the Dead? _Second Semichorus._ Yet a TAMER shall be found! One more bright than seraph crowned, And more strong than cherub bold, Elder, too, than angel old, By his grey eternities. He shall master and surprise The steed of Death. For He is strong, and He is fain. He shall quell him with a breath, And shall lead him where He will, With a whisper in the ear, Full of fear, And a hand upon the mane, Grand and still.