In solemn council sat the Gods; …
Silence self-spelled; the hour was one
When thought doth most avail;
Of worlds unborn the destiny
Hung trembling in the scale.
Silence o’er all, and there arose,
Those kings and priests among,
A Power sublime; than whom appeared
None nobler ’mid the throng.
A stature mingling strength with grace,
Of meek though Godlike mien,
The love-revealing countenance
Lustrous as lightning sheen;
Whiter his hair than ocean spray,
Or frost of alpine hill.
He spake;—attention grew more grave,
The stillness e’en more still.
‘Father!’—the voice like music fell,
Clear as the murmuring flow
Of mountain streamlet trickling down
From heights of virgin snow.
‘Father,’ it said, ‘since one must die,
Thy children to redeem,
Whilst earth, as yet unformed and void,
With pulsing life shall teem;
‘And thou, great Michael, foremost fall,
That mortal man may be,
And chosen Saviour ye must send,
Lo, here am I—send me!
I ask, I seek no recompense,
Save that which then were mine;
Mine by the willing sacrifice,
The endless glory, Thine!’ …
Silence once more. Then sudden rose
Aloft a towering form,
Proudly erect as lowering peak
’Lumed by the gathering storm;
A presence bright and beautiful,#
With eye of flashing fire,
A lip whose haughty curl bespoke
A sense of inward ire.
‘Give me to go!’ thus boldly cried,
With scarce concealed disdain;
‘And hence shall none, from heaven to earth,
That shall not rise again.
My saving plan exception scorns;
Man’s agency unknown;
As recompense, I claim the right
To sit on yonder throne!’
Ceased Lucifer. The breathless hush
Resumed and denser grew.
All eyes were turned; the general gaze
One common magnet drew.
A moment there was solemn pause;
Then, like the thunder-burst,
Rolled forth from lips omnipotent—
From Him both last and first:
‘Immanuel! thou my Messenger,
Till time’s probation end.
And one shall go thy face before,
While twelve thy steps attend.
And many more, on that far shore,
The pathway shall prepare,
That I, the First, the last may come,
And earth my glory share.’ …
’T was done. From congregation vast
Tumultuous murmurs rose;
Waves of conflicting sound, as when
Two meeting seas oppose.
’T was finished. But the heavens wept;
And still their annals tell
How one was choice of Elohim,
O’er one who fighting fell.
- Elder Orson F. Whitney
