(They go in.)

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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 all through 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,
While open still I bear
The Book of Evil Deeds,
To let the breathings of the upper air
Visit its pages and erase
The records from its face! 
Fainter and fainter as I gaze
On the broad blaze
The glimmering landscape shines,
And below me the black river
Is hidden by wreaths of vapor! 
Fainter and fainter the black lines
Begin to quiver
Along the whitening surface of the paper;
Shade after shade
The terrible words grow faint and fade,
And in their place
Runs a white space!

Down goes the sun! 
But the soul of one,
Who by repentance
Has escaped the dreadful sentence,
Shines bright below me as I look. 
It is the end! 
With closed Book
To God do I ascend.

Lo! over the mountain steeps
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps
Beneath my feet;
A blackness inwardly brightening
With sullen heat,
As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. 
And a cry of lamentation,
Repeated and again repeated,
Deep and loud
As the reverberation
Of cloud answering unto cloud,
Swells and rolls away in the distance,
As if the sheeted
Lightning retreated,
Baffled and thwarted by the wind’s resistance.

It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God’s minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood!