| |
| HIDDEN in the ancient Talmud, | |
| Slumbereth this legend old, | |
| By the stately Jewish Rabbis | |
| To the listening people told; | |
| Jacob’s ladder still is standing, | 5 |
| And the angels o’er it go | |
| Up and down from earth to heaven, | |
| Ever passing to and fro; | |
| Messengers from great Jehovah | |
| Bringing mortals good or ill, | 10 |
| Just as we from laws unchanging, | |
| Good or evil shall distill. | |
| He of Death, with brow majestic, | |
| Cometh wreathed with asphodel; | |
| He of life, with smile seraphic, | 15 |
| Softly saying, “All is well.” | |
| He of Pain, with purple pinions, | |
| He of Joy, all shining bright; | |
| He of Hope, with wings cerulean; | |
| He of innocence, all white. | 20 |
| And the rustling of their pinions, | |
| With the falling of their feet, | |
| Turneth into notes of music, | |
| Grand and solemn, soft and sweet. | |
| One—and only one—stands ever | 25 |
| On the ladder’s topmost round, | |
| Just outside the gate celestial, | |
| List’ning as to catch some sound; | |
| But it is not angel music | |
| Unto which he bends his ear, | 30 |
| ’Tis the passing prayer of mortals | |
| That he patient waits to hear. | |
| By him messengers are flitting, | |
| But he ever standeth there, | |
| For he is the Great Sandalphon | 35 |
| Who is gathering every prayer. | |
| In his hands they turn to garlands, | |
| From whose flowers a fragrance floats | |
| Through the open gates celestial, | |
| Mingled with the angels’ notes. | 40 |
| For outside the golden portal | |
| Of that city of the skies | |
| All the earthly dross and passion | |
| Of the prayer of mortal dies. | |
| ’Tis the heavenly essence only | 45 |
| That can find an entrance there, | |
| Turned into the scent of flowers | |
| By Sandalphon—Him of Prayer. | |
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