Fierce wind! will the Death-Angel come like thee,
And swiftly bear me--
_Whither_?--What mysteries may unfold to me?
What horrors scare me?
Shall I go wandering on through silent space,
Lonely--still lonely?
Or seek through myriad spirit-ranks one face,
And miss that only?
Shall I not then drop down from sphere to sphere,
Palsied and aimless?
Or will my being new so changed appear
That grief dies nameless?
Rather, I pray Him who Himself is Love,
Out of whose essence
All pure souls spring, and towards Him tending, move
Back to His presence--
His light transfiguring, may not efface
The soul's earth-features,
That the dear human likeness each may trace--
Glorified creatures:
That we may love each other, only taught
Holier desiring;
And seek all wisdom, as on earth we sought,
Ever aspiring:
That we may do all work we left undone
Through frail unmeetness;
From sphere to sphere together passing on
Towards full completeness.
Then, strong Azrael, be thy solemn call
Soft as spring-breezes,
Or like this blast, whose loud fiend-festival
My heart's pulse freezes--
I will not fear thee!--If thou safely keep
My soul, God's giving,
And my soul's soul--I, wakening from death's sleep,
Shall first know _living_.
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