O throned Glory, who, being in all things, hast of
all things understanding and of all griefs knowledge, cast the weight
of Thy mercy against the scale of my evil-doing, and make the balance
equal. Look down upon my woe, and measure it; count up the sum of my
repentance and take Thou note of the flood of sorrow that sweeps my soul
away. O Thou Holy, whom it was given to me to look upon face to face,
by that dread hour of commune I summon Thee; I summon Thee by the mystic
word. Come, then, in mercy, to save me; or, in anger, to make an end of
that which can no more be borne."
And, rising from my knees, I stretched out my arms and dared to cry
aloud the Word of Fear, to use which unworthily is death.
Swiftly the answer came. For in the silence I heard the sound of the
shaken sistra heralding the coming of the Glory. Then, at the far end of
the chamber, grew the semblance of the horned moon, gleaming faintly in
the darkness, and betwixt the golden horns rested a small dark cloud, in
and out of which the fiery serpent climbed.
My knees waxed loose in the presence of the Glory, and I sank down
before it.
Then spake the small, sweet Voice within the cloud:
"Harmachis, who wast my servant and my son, I have heard thy prayer, and
the summons that thou hast dared to utter, which on the lips of one with
whom I have communed, hath power to draw Me from the Uttermost.
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