the beauty of the archangel Raphael, as it was pictured long ago:

"A seraph winged; six wings he wore to shade
His lineaments divine; the pair that clad
Each shoulder broad came mantling o'er his breast,
With regal ornament; the middle pair
Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round
Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold
And colours dipped in Heav'n; the third his feet
Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail,
Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia's son he stood
And shook his plumes, that Heavenly fragrance filled
The circuit wide."

"Too well I know," he spoke on, while the smile on his face deepened
into a look of pity and tenderness and desire, "too well I know that
power corrupts itself and that knowledge cannot save. There is no cure
for the evil that is in the world but by the giving of more love to
men. The laws that are ordained for earth are strange and unequal,
and the ways where men must walk are full of pitfalls and dangers.
Pestilence creeps along the ground and flows in the rivers; whirlwind
and tempest shake the habitations of men and drive their ships to
destruction; fire breaks forth from the mountains and the foundations
of the world tremble. Frail is the flesh of man, and many are his
pains and troubles. His children can never find peace until they learn
to love one another and to help one another.

"Wickedness is begotten by disease and misery. Violence comes from
poverty and hunger. The cruelty of oppression is when the strong tread
the weak under their feet; the bitterness of pride is when the wise