The Lord God monologue — Satan Absolved: A Victorian Mystery

These have their devoirs, The search, the novelty. Ye drowse here in your choirs, Sleep-walkers all,--while these, glad messengers, go forth Upon new joyous errands, Earthwards, South and North, To visit men and cities. What is strange as Man? What fair as his green Globe in all Creation's plan? What ordered as his march of life, of mind, of will? What subtle as his conscience set at grips with ill? Their service needs no sleep who guide Man's destinies. Speak, Gabriel, thou the last. Is Man grown grand and wise? Hath he his place on Earth, prince of Time's fashionings, Noblest and fairest found, the roof and crown of things? Is the World joyful all in his most perfect joy? Hath the good triumphed, tell, o'er pain and Time's annoy, Since Our Son died, who taught the way of perfect peace? Thou knowest it how I love these dear Humanities. Is all quite well with Man?