"Until the morning light ye shall not go
Out at the door. Upon the lintel, on
The two side posts the blood shall be. Within,
Unleavened bread, with bitter herbs; for so
The angel, the destroyer, shall pass o'er.
The Lord shall watch throughout the land; He shall
Not suffer aught to harm, where'er is found
The blood upon the lintel and the posts."
Is this a story of the long ago,
Or is it now, today, that we are called
To shed the "blood," the mortal sense of life
With all its foibles, pleasures, and its pains,
And in the place thereof find Life divine?
What shall we keep within the house, now that
The time is come when we must weighed be
In balances ne'er touched by human hands?
How shall we know ourselves, our brother man,
Our friend, and him we call our enemy?
What do we see as substance? Shall the veil
Be rent—the Son of man be lifted up—
Till in the radiance of Soul we see
The unreality of things of sense,
The permanence of Life divine, and thus
Behold the man who cometh forth from God?
