Part 4

THE LORD THE HEAVENLY HOST Afterwards MEPHISTOPHELES

(The THREE ARCHANGELS come forward.)

RAPHAEL

The sun-orb sings, in emulation, ’Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round: His path predestined through Creation He ends with step of thunder-sound. The angels from his visage splendid Draw power, whose measure none can say; The lofty works, uncomprehended, Are bright as on the earliest day.

GABRIEL

And swift, and swift beyond conceiving, The splendor of the world goes round, Day’s Eden-brightness still relieving The awful Night’s intense profound: The ocean-tides in foam are breaking, Against the rocks’ deep bases hurled, And both, the spheric race partaking, Eternal, swift, are onward whirled!

MICHAEL

And rival storms abroad are surging From sea to land, from land to sea. A chain of deepest action forging Round all, in wrathful energy. There flames a desolation, blazing Before the Thunder’s crashing way: Yet, Lord, Thy messengers are praising The gentle movement of Thy Day.

THE THREE

Though still by them uncomprehended, From these the angels draw their power, And all Thy works, sublime and splendid, Are bright as in Creation’s hour.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Since Thou, O Lord, deign’st to approach again And ask us how we do, in manner kindest, And heretofore to meet myself wert fain, Among Thy menials, now, my face Thou findest. Pardon, this troop I cannot follow after With lofty speech, though by them scorned and spurned: My pathos certainly would move Thy laughter, If Thou hadst not all merriment unlearned. Of suns and worlds I’ve nothing to be quoted; How men torment themselves, is all I’ve noted. The little god o’ the world sticks to the same old way, And is as whimsical as on Creation’s day. Life somewhat better might content him, But for the gleam of heavenly light which Thou hast lent him: He calls it Reason—thence his power’s increased, To be far beastlier than any beast. Saving Thy Gracious Presence, he to me A long-legged grasshopper appears to be, That springing flies, and flying springs, And in the grass the same old ditty sings. Would he still lay among the grass he grows in! Each bit of dung he seeks, to stick his nose in.

THE LORD

Hast thou, then, nothing more to mention? Com’st ever, thus, with ill intention? Find’st nothing right on earth, eternally?

MEPHISTOPHELES

No, Lord! I find things, there, still bad as they can be. Man’s misery even to pity moves my nature; I’ve scarce the heart to plague the wretched creature.

THE LORD

Know’st Faust?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The Doctor Faust?

THE LORD

My servant, he!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Forsooth! He serves you after strange devices: No earthly meat or drink the fool suffices: His spirit’s ferment far aspireth; Half conscious of his frenzied, crazed unrest, The fairest stars from Heaven he requireth, From Earth the highest raptures and the best, And all the Near and Far that he desireth Fails to subdue the tumult of his breast.

THE LORD

Though still confused his service unto Me, I soon shall lead him to a clearer morning. Sees not the gardener, even while buds his tree, Both flower and fruit the future years adorning?

MEPHISTOPHELES

What will you bet? There’s still a chance to gain him, If unto me full leave you give, Gently upon my road to train him!