Fantastic Metropolis

ANGEL OF THE LOWER REGIONS: Be thou not feared, O little soul,
        ’Tis only I, thy humble guide
        Into the regions of the bless’d
        Where thou shalt stand before the throne
        And see thy Father, there to take thy place
        On the heavenly scale, and to be judged and weighed.

SOUL: O blessed one, my gratitude will surely
        Kiss thy face with flutt’ring wings!
        But there is something I would say
        Had I the courage now to speak.

ANGEL: Speak now, my son, for there is nothing here
        To cause you to forbear.

SOUL: Then I will speak; O glorious being,
        I would not try to influence my fate,
        For I would see the Holy One,
        But in my earthly life I stood
        On many scales, and I do know my weight.

ANGEL: O innocent! O cow’ring soul!
        These scales are nothing like the ones you know,
        But measure here the worthiness,
        The virtue and the grace of he who’s weighed.
        The denizens of heav’n oft speak rhetorically,
       These scales are just meant metaphorically.

SOUL: Now all is clear, as if the world
       Were bathed in incandescent light!
       My understanding shines forth like a flare,
       Lighting up this everlasting night!
       Were I so bold, and not so wise,
       I’d say that scales had fallen from my eyes.

CHOIR OF PENITENTS: Be gracious in thy mercy, Lord,
       This soul that upward flies towards thy face
       Is black with sin, but can be purified
       By thy stern judgement, thus transposing it
       Into the purest white of holy grace!
       Praise thee, O Lord, in thy power and glory
       Praise thee, O Lord, in thy fullness of eternity
       Praise thee, O Lord, in the majesty of thy coming
       Praise thee, O Lord, thou highest of the high!

SOUL: And now my angel has departed,
       Leaving me alone to swim
       In the seas of space and time,
       When I was getting used to him.
       But now a shudd’ring anguish fills me through,
       Although I travel on at faster pace.
       I shiver, and my being is full of doubt
       That I shall see my Holy Master’s face.

ANGEL OF THE UPPER REGIONS: Thou should not fear, O quaking soul,
       Thy pain is nought but agony
       Of incompleteness: thou shalt see his face,
       For my task is to conduct you to his gracious being.
       But the seeing of him you will find overpowering,
       And thy present pain will multiply itself,
       But our most glorious Church has always taught
       Its worshippers to glory in their anguish,
       And many times has added to their pain
       By taking their last money for our altars
       So that they starve, in preparation for the afterlife.
       And when thy pain comes shalt thou too rejoice
       To see the greatness of the greatest one,
       To see His face, to hear His voice.

SOUL: All hail, O being of the higher slopes!
       Your message brings to me great comfortment.
       But I grow now impatient for my moment to begin.