Of God's high glory! Set your snowy feet
On the Red Mountain, while pinions beat
Of proximate apocolypse. Uncried
Haloos of havoc, prophcies denied
Fulfilment till the Dawn of Wonder, fleet
In songs precursive down the glittering street
Where dripped the blood from wounded brows and side.
And you must walk the mountain tops where rode
Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, when the stars
Fell from their places, and where Satan strode
To make his leap. Now bend the cracking spars
Athwart the mast of the world - and five deep scars
From that strong Cross call you to their abode.