“The arm of the cruel is heavier than the arm of the kind.  The unjust get the better of the just and tread on them.  I have seen tyrant kings crush their helpless folk.  I have seen the fields of the innocent trampled into bloody ruin by the feet of conquering armies.  I have seen the wicked nation overcome the peoples that loved liberty, and take away their treasure by force of arms.  I have seen poverty mocked by arrogant wealth, and purity deflowered by brute violence, and gentleness and fair-dealing bruised in the winepress of iniquity and pride.

“There is no cure for this evil, but by the giving of greater force to the good hand.  The righteous cause must be strengthened with might to resist the wicked, to defend the helpless, to punish all cruelty and unfairness, to uphold the right everywhere, and to enforce justice with unconquerable arms.  Oh, that the host of Heaven might be called, arrayed, and sent to mingle in the wars of men, to make the good victorious, to destroy all evil, and to make the will of the King prevail!

“We would shake down the thrones of tyrants, and loose the bands of the oppressed.  We would hold the cruel and violent with the bit of fear, and drive the greedy and fierce-minded men with the whip of terror.  We would stand guard, with weapons drawn, about the innocent, the gentle, the kind, and keep the peace of God with the sword of the angels!”

As he spoke, his hands were lifted to the hilt of his long blade, and he raised it above him, straight and shining, throwing sparkles of light around it, like the spray from the sharp prow of a moving ship.  Bright flames of heavenly ardour leaped in the eyes of the listening angels; a martial air passed over their faces as if they longed for the call to war.

But no silver trumpet blared from the battlements of the City of God; no crimson flag was unfurled on those high, secret walls; no thrilling drum-beat echoed over the smooth meadow.  Only the sound of the brook of Brighthopes was heard tinkling and murmuring among the roots of the grasses and flowers; and far off a cadence of song drifted down from the inner courts of the Palace of the King.

Then another angel began to speak, and made answer to Michael.  He, too, was tall and wore the look of power.  But it was power of the mind rather than of the hand.  His face was clear and glistening, and his eyes were lit with a steady flame which neither leaped nor fell.  Of flame also were his garments, which clung about him as the fire enwraps a torch burning where there is no wind; and his great wings, spiring to a point far above his head, were like a living lamp before the altar of the Most High.  By this sign I knew that it was the archangel Uriel, the spirit of the Sun, clearest in vision, deepest in wisdom of all the spirits that surround the throne.