The Clouds of Heaven Storm

I

I bare you on Eagles’ Wings,

And brought you unto victory,

Lest you depart for evil things,

And the dark cold misery,

Then reject, too, the seat of kings,

And all heaven’s auxiliary,

Then behold what evil brings:

The birthplace of history.

II

The seed which fell among the thorns,

Makes idols out of metal,

And in the clouds of heaven storms,

The horns of a nettle,

A condition that pride warns,

And tempts the being to unsettle,

As the inner hellfire burns,

Here reigns the devil.

II

I bare you on Eagles’ Wings,

And brought you unto victory,

But from that you bore twins,

Of holy and of witchery,

Must darkened the shroud of sin,

Begat the shining of divinity?

Or from this conflict spring,

A blacker truth contradictory?