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Prologue In Heaven. The Archangels' Song.
By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
RAPHAEL.
The sun still chaunts, as in old time,
With brother-spheres in choral song,
And with his thunder-march sublime
Moves his predestined course along.
Strength find the angels in his sight,
Though he by none may fathomed be;
Still glorious is each work of might
As when first form'd in majesty.
GABRIEL.
And swift and swift, in wondrous guise,
Revolves the earth in splendour bright,
The radiant hues of Paradise
Alternating with deepest night.
From out the gulf against the rock,
In spreading billows foams the ocean,
And cliff and sea with mighty shock,
The spheres whirl round in endless motion.
MICHAEL.
And storms in emulation growl
From land to sea, from sea to land,
And fashion, as they wildly howl,
A circling, wonder-working band.
Destructive flames in mad career
Precede Thy thunders on their way;
Yet, Lord, Thy messengers revere
The soft mutations of Thy day.
THE THREE.
Strength find the angels in Thy sight,
Though none may hope to fathom Thee;
Still glorious are Thy works of might,
As when first form'd in majesty.
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