Above Your Mansion There Is A Moon


In the House of Death
There are no walls,
No windows to block that
view of Life;
           In the beginning
           We are born,
           Naked;
                    In the end,
                    We are born again;

To the Seven Seeds of Virtue,
Go!
Four in number are the Worlds:  :
           These shall be our Guide:

When the River began its chattering course,
We were its first boulder,
Now worn away,
           To fine grains of water-logged clay,
           Holding firmly the fringes of green,
Lo!     There is the hot sunshine,
                          and
Lo!     There also is the cool shade;

          In the House of Death;
There are no floors,
Nothing stands between the dying
                           between the living,
Where the grasses are sweet,
Where the Light is full of flowers,
Human Being...Now bringing all Homeward
             From this Mothering Earth...
To the Morning Journey;

          In the House of Death,
There is no roof,
          No boards to break,
Our View of stars,
          God!
          No slanted beams to slice
Our Vision...True as the Golden Eagle's
Flight...We rise on gloried wings:

          In the House of Death;
All is finally delivered,
          Our servant work and our master work
Is done,
          Under the lunging crash of thunder,
Comes the sound of children laughing,
          Over the crackling lightning...
Comes last the sound of birds dashing
          Feathers in the storm;

          In the House of Death
Our in-most hearts relent,
To know the truth of joy in pangs of sorrow spent,
In pang of all that throbbed and startled,
In pang of all that ever robbed or astonished,
In pang of all that ever scorned or pitied,
                   All these now gather in your breast,
          To be kissed and blessed,
Held in by final breaths,
Final moments won,
                   All in the sight of God,
                   Our finest and our highest hour,
Salvation's victory stands alone.
On a tall hill in a green land,
          where all is forever gazing,
Amazing moon and stars,
                   and
          The Sun Stands Out;

          In the House of Death,
What cries out the flesh is
          The meadow high-up the mountain's side,
          The rugged island wild within the ocean's range,
          The Holy Cave or The Hermit's Solo,
                   Silent, Final Prayer:
All spirits fall into rain,
Flies up on wings, wind-ruffled,
Muffled in the booming clouds,
          Knows no defeat,
          No journey unfinished,
          No tale or legend half-told,
All is done and done complete,
It stands the Ages;

          In the House of Death,
No door, no locks, no jangling keys,
It is a place for leaving from,
To reach the brighter shore,
          Or the pale dawn pinking the crags,
Beyond all mortal grasp,
          Lo!   We go as in a remembering way,
To whence the light is eternally near,
To the veriest birth of all souls,
We travel as by a winding path,
Through a land where the wind turns away,
To hear the shouting of sparrows!


- Michael Warren Eliseuson