XLI.

The flame! the envious flame, it leapt Enraged to see such majesty, Such scorn of death; such kingly scorn. Then like some lightning-riven tree They sank down in that flame—and slept And all was hushed above that steep So still, that they might sleep and sleep; As still as when a day is born.

At last! from out the embers leapt Two shafts of light above the night,— Two wings of flame that lifting swept In steady, calm, and upward flight; Two wings of flame against the white Far-lifting, tranquil, snowy cone; Two wings of love, two wings of light, Far, far above that troubled night, As mounting, mounting to God's throne.