“Peace, oh peace! that thy light wings might now rest upon me!  Truth, that thou mightest shine in upon my soul, making all light where now is darkness!  Ye spirits that dwell in yon bright orbs far above me, ye that alone are privileged to bow before the Great Creator of the universe, ye that alone may address yourselves to the Great Omnipotent Spirit with impunity, intercede for me, I beseech you!  Bow before that Great Sovereign of all wisdom and light, whom we worship through these vague symbols of fire and brightness; plead with him before whom I dare not come, in my behalf.  Beseech of him, if he will condescend to notice his most humble priest, that he may lead him into light effulgent, into all truth, and that he may clear from his soul these vapors of doubt which now press upon him in blackest gloom and rack his soul with torment.  If I sin in doubting thus, beseech him to forgive me and to lead me to a conception of him as he is.  Ye that are his ministers, from your starry spheres guide me!  Whether through darkness, thorns, or stony ways, guide me; I shall not falter if I may see the light at last!  Oh, grant me peace!”

Thus prayed Yusuf, the Magian priest.  He paused.  No sound passed from his lips, but he still stood with upraised arms, gazing into the intense depths of the Persian sky, purple, and flecked with golden stars, the “forget-me-nots of the angels.”

His priestly vestments were dazzlingly white, and upon his shoulders were fixed two snowy wings that swept downward to the ground.  His black beard descended far over his breast, and from the eyes above shone forth the glow of a soul yearning towards the infinite unknown, whose all is God.

Behind him, near the altar of the rounded tower,—­round in the similitude of the orbs of light, the sun, moon, and stars,—­danced the sacred fire, whose flames were said to have burned unceasingly for nearly one thousand years.  The fiery wreaths leaped upwards toward the same purple sky, as if pointing with long, red fingers, in mockery of the priest’s devotion; and the ruddy glare, falling upon him as he stood so still there, enveloped him with a halo of light.  It gleamed upon his head, upon his uplifted hands, upon the curves of the wings on his shoulders, silhouetting him against the darkness, and lighting his white habiliments until, all motionless as he was, he seemed like a marble statue dazzlingly radiant in the light of one crimson gleam from a sinking sun.

And so he stood, heeding it not, till the moon rose, soft and full; the mountain-tops shone with a rim of silver, the valleys far below the temple looked deeper in the shade, and the fire burned low.

Rapt and more rapt grew the face of the priest.  Surely the struggle of his soul was being answered, and in his nearness to Nature, he was getting a faint, far-off gleam of the true nature of Nature’s God.  His glance fell to the changing landscape below; his arms were extended as if in benediction; and his lips moved in a low and passionate farewell to his native land.  Then he turned.