In Heaven. The LORD on His throne, surrounded with glory. A host of ANGELS kneeling before him. The FOUR ARCHANGELS stand by the throne. There shines a great radiance.

THE CHOIR OF ANGELS
Glory and praise to God on high eternal,
Let earth and heaven laud the majesty
Of Him Who hath called all things into being,
And on Whose will depends their destiny.
He the whole sum of might, and bliss and knowledge,
Our part but His great shadow on us thrown,
Praise Him Who in His boundless mercy grants us
A measure of that light which is His own.
The everlasting thought issues incarnate,
The high task of creation is complete,
The Lord awaits from every creature breathing
A worthy tribute at His holy feet.

THE LORD
The task is done; the Maker rests. And lo!
The engine turns. A million years shall flow,
Ere round its axle shall the wheel run slow,
And a new cog be needed. Up, away,
Spirits who guard my world, rest not nor stay,
Rush on your timeless race with pinions fleet,
And let me once again delight to see
Your whirring wings in flight beneath my feet.
The Guardian Spirits of the stars, driving before them spheres, constellations and comets of diverse greatness and colour, race away from before the throne. The music of the spheres is heard as a murmur.

THE CHOIR OF ANGELS
See how proudly whirls your planet,
Confident in flaming glory,
Yet but the unwitting servant
Of a dim, far constellation.
Lo, this little star that glimmers,
Seems a pale lamp, yet the vast world
Of a myriad creation.
Two spheres strive against each other,
Rush together, fly asunder,
Yet a wondrous brake the combat,
Guiding both along their orbit.
One speeds past in roaring thunder,
And the distant gazer shudders,
Yet a million on that mighty
Star find peace and joy abundant.
See how modest shines the destined
Star of love. To mankind ever
May the guiding hand preserve it
An eternal consolation.
There are worlds born into being,
Here the tomb of worlds that perish;
To the vain a solemn warning,
To despairing souls a promise.
Swiftly speeds the fearful comet
Raging through the troubled heaven,
Yet the Lord’s command directs it
On its endless curve revolving.
Come, beloved, youthful spirit,
With thy orb that ever changes,
Wearing now the cloak of sadness,
Now of joy, now white, now verdant,
Come, receive high heaven’s blessing.
Onward, onward, ne’er despairing.
Mighty powers shall strive together
In thy narrow boundaries wrestling.
Fair and foul, and tears and laughter,
Spring and winter shall possess thee,
Light and shade shall come upon thee,
The Lord’s favour and His anger.
The Guardian Spirits of the stars withdraw.

THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL
Thou that infinite space hath measured,
Framing matter in void primaeval,
And the depth and the height hath called
With Thy word alone into being,
Hail to Thee, Mind Eternal.
Prostrates himself.

THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL
Thou, uniting the ever-changing,
With the changeless, hath time created,
And eternity, formed of mankind
Single members and mighty nations,
Hail to Thee, Strength Eternal.
Prostrates himself.

THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL
Thou hast compassed all things with glory.
Raised the body to conscious knowledge;
Thou hast made the world a partaker
Of Thy wisdom divine, eternal.
Hail to Thee ever, Goodness.
Prostrates himself. Pause.

THE LORD
Thou, Lucifer, art silent. In thy pride
Thou standest confident. Hast thou no word
Of praise? Doth my creation please thee not?

LUCIFER
What should then please me? That Thou hast endued
A little dust with diverse qualities,
Which, ere they shewed themselves, Thou hadst perchance
Not felt, or if Thou hadst, Thou couldst not change;
That a few spheres this way or that revolve,
That one attracts another or repels,
That in a few worms dawns a consciousness,
Till all be fulfilled and till all grow cold
And only indistinguishable dust remain?
Why, man too, almost, if he should but learn,
Might in his kitchen seethe as good a broth,
In Thy great kitchen Thou hast placed man
And seest, indulgent, how he spoils the food,
A very bungler, thinks himself a god.
But if he prove a waster, and shall mar
What Thou Thyself hast cooked, then shall flame forth
Thy wrath, too late; yet what couldest Thou hope
From a vain dabbler else than foolishness?
What purpose doth thy whole creation serve?
Thou hast a poem written to Thy praise,
And placed the record in a bad machine,
And art not wearied yet eternally
That the song rings unchanging in thine ears.
Is such a plaything worthy of ripe age
On which a child alone could set its heart,
A spark of life within a little clay
Aping its Lord, a wretched counterfeit,
No image of its Master; Liberty
Striving with Fate, and Fate with Liberty,
And no resolving chord of harmony?

THE LORD
Thy part is to pay homage, not to judge.

LUCIFER
The fruit of mine own nature, nought beside
Can I give Thee;
pointing to the angels
      this abject band may give
Thee praise enough, and it beseems them so.
For Thou has formed them as the light the shade,
But I live ageless from eternity.

THE LORD
Ah, insolent, where was thy realm, thy might,
Before primaeval matter first was born?

LUCIFER
That I might peradventure ask of Thee.

THE LORD
Before time was I purpose. That which now
Is perfected, lived in my thought before.

LUCIFER
And hast Thou not felt in Thy consciousness
A void, a barrier to all that is,
That yet through it compelled Thee to create?
That barrier was called Lucifer,
The ancient spirit of age-old denial.
Thou hast prevailed, for so my fate is set
That in my conflict I should ever fall,
Yet rise again to fight with strength renewed.
Thou hast the substance formed; the gain is mine.
For there beside life, death stands; grief by joy,
The shadow by the light, despair by hope,
And where Thou art, there I am, everywhere;
And he who knows Thee, shall he homage pay?

THE LORD
Rebellious spirit, forth from me, begone!
I could destroy thee, yet, I will not so.
Fight on amid the mire, outcast, abhorred,
A homeless exile from the spirit host,
And may this thought eternally torment
The desolation of thy heart: in vain
The fetters thou dost shake, thou can’st not win
The victory in battle with the Lord.

LUCIFER
Thou can’st not me so lightly cast aside,
Like some poor paltry tool grown valueless.
For we both have created, and I claim
My part.

THE LORD with scorn
      Then as thou willest, let it be.
Look on the earth. Two slender trees among
The trees of Eden, in the garden’s midst
I curse. Henceforth they are thine, Lucifer.

LUCIFER
Thou measurest with niggard hands. Thou art
A great Lord, and an inch sufficeth me.
Where the eternal ‘Nay’ his foot shall set,
Thy world shall at his treading crumble yet.
He departs.

THE CHOIR OF ANGELS
Away, accursed from before the Throne,
Hail to the Lawgiver, our God alone.