To lonely, bent Charon, it seemed
As though beneath the sunless sky
The waveless River somehow gleamed
With light unseen. A long, soft sigh

Breathed like wind over the dead fields
As there approached One who, sunlike,
Crested the fort that never yields;
Pale Death o’ercome by One unlike

Any that yet had passed these shores.
Strange sight! A naked king, each hand
And foot marked deep with cruel red sores,
Addresses the ageless Styx and

Meets the ferryman’s soulless gaze
With eyes whose irises of gold
Seem to encompass endless days.
Before Eternity the Old

One flinches; his strength cannot bear
To match for long seconds the weight
Of the Stranger’s undying stare.
A trembling seizes him - a great

Terror swallows the ferryman.
“What hast Thou to do with us? Thou
Who opens the door, and none can
Close?” The Visitor waits. “And how

“Can I grant Thee passage, and see
Such light made food for my fell lord?”
Then lo, having finished his plea,
Charon resolves to keep his word

And carry out his solemn task.
But still, as he takes up his oar
He glances up, as though to ask
His charge for some sign, some word, or

Anything that might give him peace.
The Sojourner answers: “I will
That your master’s reign should now cease;
So go, then, that we may fulfill

“All righteousness.” Thus He boarded
The morbid ark, and a low wail
Creaked from boards which ‘neath the sordid
Weight of lost souls were used to sail.

Thus the ferryman sets out, he
Navigates rivers men have wept,
Plying across the morbid sea;
Meanwhile, the Guest lay down and slept.

Before an hour in Death’s domain
Had passed upon the waters, all
Ears were pricked by a cry of pain;
The Styx let out a plaintive call

And shuddered while the shuddering
O’ercame the ferryman as well
For ne’er was dread Styx known to sing
And ne’er before did whimper Hell.

Then, falling at the Master’s knee
Charon woke the Sleeper and cried
Aloud: “O Lord! Depart from me,
A poor wretch!” The Passenger sighed,

Looked up, and with a quiet, bold
Command He rebuked the River
And all fell silent. Blood ran cold
In the guide’s black veins, a shiver

Gripped him as they approached the shore
Where on the nearing beach there stood
A company of phantoms, for
Their dry bones ached for Him who would

With beautiful feet step onto
The sepulchral sands to declare
That doleful ghosts shall be made new,
Allowed to breathe the Heav’nly air.

**! Life’s Author disembarking!
Thund’rous Life into Satan’s hall!
Death, shattered, kneels before the King!
His Heart oped, Hades proves too small!

The vault of Hell’s bleak sky does shake
And burst, for the Word has spoken
With grave finality: “Awake
Now, arise! The Dawn has broken!”