University of Virginia Library

‘Call the great philosophers!
Call them all hither,—
The good, the wise!’
Their robes were snowy,
Their hearts were holy,
They had cold still eyes.
To the mountain-summits
Wearily they wander'd,
Reaching the desolate
Regions of snow,
Looming there lonely,
They searched the Veil wonderful
With tubes fire-fashion'd
In caverns below . . .
God withdrew backward,
And darker, dimmer,
Deepen'd the day:
O'er the philosophers
Looming there lonely
Night gather'd gray.
Then the wise men gazing
Saw the lights above them
Thicken and thicken,
And all went pale—
Ah! the lamps numberless,
The mystical jewels of God,
The luminous, wonderful,
Beautiful lights of the Veil!

Alas for the Wise Men!
The snows of the mountain
Drifted about them,
And the wind cried round them,
As the lights of wonder
Multiplied!
The breath of the mountain
Froze them into stillness,—
They sighed and died.
Still in the desolate
Heights overhead,
Stand their shapes frozen,
Frozen and dead.
But a weary few,
Weary and dull and cold,
Crept faintly down again,
Looking very old;
And when the people
Gather'd around them,
The heart went sickly
At their dull blank stare—
‘O Wise Men answer!
Is there a Father?
Is there a beautiful
Face up there?’
The Wise Men answer'd and said:
‘Bury us deep when dead—
We have travelled a weary road,
We have seen no more than ye.
'Twere better not to be—
There is no God!’
And the people, hearkening,
Saw the Veil above them,
And the darkness deepen'd,
And the Lights gleamed pale.
Ah! the lamps numberless,
The mystical jewels of God,
The luminous, wonderful,
Beautiful Lights of the Veil!