The Song of Satan

Gold is he — a sun-lit sky,
Silvern cup where wine is high,
Wisdom, which the angels praise —
Who obeys the Godhead nigh.

Bird that's brought within the snare,
Leaking bark that dangers dare,
Broken branch that withered sways
He who God's will disobeys.

Fragrant bough, and full of bloom,
Honey cup of sweet perfume,
Precious stone of shining rays,
Who obeys the King of Doom.

Nut of dust, decayed and sour,
Bitter crab-branch, void of flow'r,
Leafless tree that hurts the gaze,
Who the King's will disobeys.

Whoso hears the Lord divine,
Summer-girt, a Sun shall shine,
God's true image here is seen —
Vessel clean of crystal fine.

He's a swift steed o'er the plain
Who seeks God's gate to attain,
He's a chariot 'neath a king
Which shall bring gold gifts amain.

Sun to warm the heaven of bliss,
Man for whom God thankful is! —
Temple, light-lit ev'ry line,
Shrine that sacred lips shall kiss.

Altar he where wine is shed,
Round it choral song is said; —
Cleansed chalice he, behold!
Chased and carved of purest gold.