54 THE FATAL FORCE
They foam upon the sands that burn
With spring’s delirious festivals.
They flash upon the gleaming ways,
They cry, they chant aloud the praise
Of Isis, and our temple kisses
Their flowery water-wildernesses,
Whose foamheads nestle to the stones
With slumberous antiphones.
All birds and beasts and fish are fain
To mingle passion with the hope
All creatures hold, that cycled pain
May make its stream the wider scope
Of many lives and changing law,
Till to the sacred fountains draw
Essences of dim being, mated
With lofty substance uncreated,
Concluding the full period
That makes all being God.
PACHAD (desguised in the mask of a lion).
I lift the censer. Hail, immortal queen,
From the vast hall of death! Dead Horus cries
Towards the dawn. Bid me awake, O mother!
O mother! from the darkness of the tomb,
That live Osiris may cry back to thee,
O spouse! O sister! from the halls of life,
The profound lake, the immeasurable depth,
The sea of the three Loves! O mother, mother!
Isis, the voice that even Ament hears,