Madame A. Christina Albers

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The Awakening

And now comes the great moment of His life!
Behold ye suns and moons the Śākyamuni:
The time has come, He sits beneath the tree.
Behold the tree, laden with glowing clusters
Of vivid bloom, brilliant in soft-tinged rose,
Veiled in a lustrous chrysophrase, and blending
Its hue and fragrance with young spring’s full lite.
Bend the green branches down in fond obeisance.
A hallowed murmur runs from star to star,
And stand the gods hushed in mute expectation,
While through the land of downfall and black sin
Strange whispers pass of hope and coming freedom,
And undulating waves of occult force
Flow through all throbbing hearts from brute to human.
Now Māra, seeing, comes with his mad hosts
On the winged wind of an unbridled fury,
And opens all the flood-gates of his hate.
But fire and curses, all hell’s gruesome torrents
Cannot subdue the Prince of gods and men.
The victory shines on His imperious features
And from the wellspring His valiant heart
An unquenched fire of love and peace is flaming.
All Māra’s hosts of lurid screaming ghouls
Cannot do harm e'en to his spotless garment.
Now turns in tenfold wrath the evil one,
‘You have not made the five great gifts Siddhārtha,
My teeming hosts bear witness unto me.
Speak now you, Śākya-prince, who is your witness?’
Then rose ten million voices from the soil,
And spake the mighty earth in roaring thunder,
‘We bear Thee witness, dauntless Śākya-prince.’
Now fled all hell’s wild hosts in dread confusion.
The morning dawns, the victory is won.
And oh, the glory of that love-charmed morning
O'er all creation hung the silver veil
Of a great dream, where rosy beacons glimmered
Inviting to a world of mellow rest,
Where pain is put to sleep pearl oases,
The wind filled sails of all unquenched desire
Are furled. The craft playing on waveless ocean
Will find its harbour on a starlit shore,
That tranquil land of dew-kissed lustrous silence,
The morning isle of a perennial dawn.