For, from the confines of material space,
The twilight-moving
place,
The gates of matter,
and
the dark threshold,
Before the faces of the Things that dwell
In the Abodes of Night,
Spring into sight
Demons dog-faced, that show no mortal sign
Of Truth, but desecrate
the Light Divine,
Seducing from the sacred
mysteries.
But, after all these Folk of Fear are driven
Before the avenging levin
That rives the opening skies,
Behold that Formless and that Holy Flame
That hath no name
;
That Fire that darts and flashes,
writhes and creeps
Snake-wise
in royal robe,
Wound round that vanished glory of the globe.
Unto that sky beyond the starry deeps,
Beyond
the Toils of Time — then formulate
In thine own mind, luminous, concentrate,
The Lion of the Light, a child that stands
On the vast shoulders of the Steed of God
:
Or winged, or shooting flying
shafts, or shod
With the flame-sandals.
Then,
lift up thine hands !
Centre thee in thine heart one scarlet thought
Limpid with brilliance of the Light above !
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