A beautiful, but bearded face,
That now is in the Holy Land,
Yet in my memory from afar
Is shining on us like a star.
But linger not. For while I speak,
A sheeted spectre white and tall,
The cold mist climbs the castle wall,
And lays his hand upon thy cheek!

They go in.

EPILOGUE.

THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING.

THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, with closed book.

God sent his messenger the rain,

And said unto the mountain brook,

"Rise up,

and from thy caverns look

And leap, with naked, snow-white feet,

From the cool hills into the heat

Of the broad, arid plain.”

God sent his messenger of faith, And whispered in the maiden's heart, "Rise up, and look from where thou art,

And scatter with unselfish hands

Thy freshness on the barren sands

And solitudes of Death."

O beauty of holiness,

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!

O power of meekness,

Whose very gentleness and weakness

Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!

Upon the pages

Of the sealed volume that I bear,

The deed divine

Is written in characters of gold,

That never shall

grow old,

But through all ages

Burn and shine,

With soft effulgence!

O God! it is thy indulgence

That fills the world with the bliss

Of a good deed like this!

THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, with open book.

Not yet, not yet

Is the red sun wholly set,

But evermore recedes,