“Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling
     Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;
     Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling: 
     ’Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold! 
     Return to them that worship thee of old!’”

Now in a strain more high and glad the singer sang: 

     “He wakes—­from forth the prison
     We sing Osiris risen,
     We sing the child that Nout conceived and bare. 
     Thine own love, Isis, waits
     The Warden of the Gates,
     She breathes the breath of Life on breast and hair,
     And in her breast and breath
     Behold! he waketh,
     Behold! at length he riseth out of rest;
     Touched with her holy hands,
     The Lord of all the Lands,
     He stirs, he rises from her breath, her breast! 
     But thou, fell Typhon, fly,
     The judgment day drawn nigh,
     Fleet on thy track as flame speeds Horus from the sky.”

     “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling
     Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;
     Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling: 
     ’Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold! 
     Return to them that worship thee of old!’”

Once more, as we bowed before the Holy, she sang, and sent the full breath of her glad music ringing up the everlasting walls till the silence quivered with her round notes of melody, and the hearts of those who hearkened stirred strangely in the breast.  And thus, as we walked, she sang the song of Osiris risen, the song of Hope, the song of Victory: 

     “Sing we the Trinity,
     Sing we the Holy Three,
     Sing we, and praise we and worship the Throne,
     Throne that our Lord hath set—­
     There peace and truth are met
     There in the Halls of the Holy alone! 
     There in the shadowings
     Faint of the folded wings,
     There shall we dwell and rejoice in our rest,
     We that thy servants are! 
     Horus drive ill afar! 
     Far in the folds of the dark of the West!”

Again, as her notes died away, thundered forth the chorus of all the voices: 

     “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling
     Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;
     Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling: 
     ’Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold! 
     Return to them that worship thee of old!’”

The chanting ceased, and as the sun sank the High Priest raised the statue of the living God and held it before the multitude that was now gathered in the court of the temple.  Then, with a mighty and joyful shout of: 

“Osiris our hope!  Osiris!  Osiris!”

the people tore their black wrappings from their dress, revealing the white robes they wore beneath, and, as one man, they bowed before the God, and the feast was ended.

But for me the ceremony was only begun, for to-night was the night of my initiation.  Leaving the inner court I bathed myself, and, clad in pure linen, passed, as it is ordained, into an inner, but not the inmost, sanctuary, and laid the accustomed offerings on the altar.  Then, lifting my hands to heaven, I remained for many hours in contemplation, striving, by holy thoughts and prayer, to gather up my strength against the mighty moment of my trial.