What is the tumult among the stars that have shone so still till now? What are the furrows of pain and wrath upon the immortal brow? Why is the face of God turned grey and his angels all grown white? What is the terrible ruby star that burns down the crimson night? What is the beauty that flames so bright athwart the awful dawn? She has taken flesh, she is come to judge the thrones ye rule upon. Quail ye kings for an end is come in the birth of BABALON.

 
I have walked three dreadful nights away in halls beyond despair, I have given marrow and tears and sweat and blood to make her fair. I have lain my love and smashed my heart and filled her cup with blood, That blood might flow from the loins of woe to the cup of brotherhood. The cities reel in the shout of steel where the sword of war is drawn. Sing ye saints for the day is come in the birth of BABALON.
 
Now God has called for his judgement book and seen his name therein. And the grace of God and the
guilt of God have spelt it out as sin. His bloody priests have clutched his robes and stained his linen gown. And his victims swarm from his broken hell to drag his kingdom down. O popes and kings and the little gods are sick and sad and wan. To see the crimson star that bursts like blood upon the dawn. While trumpets sound and stars rejoice at the birth of BABALON.
 
BABALON is too beautiful for sight of mortal eyes. She has hidden her loveliness away in lonely midnight skies, She has clothed her beauty in robes of sin and pledged her heart to swine. And loving and giving all she has brewed for saints immortal wine. But now the darkness is riven through and the robes of sin are gone, And naked she stands as a terrible blade and a flame and a splendid song. Naked in radiant mortal flesh at the Birth of BABALON.
 
She is come new born as a mortal maid forgetting her high estate, She has opened her arms to pain and death and dared the doom of fate, And death and hell are at her back, but her eyes are bright with life, Her heart is high and her sword is strong to meet the deadly strife, Her voice is sure as the judgement trump to crack the house of wrong, Though walls are high and stone is hard and the rule of hell was long. The gates shall fall and the irons break in the Birth of BABALON.
 
Her mouth is red and her breasts are fair and her loins are full of fire, And her lust is strong as a man is strong in the heat of her desire, And her whoredom is holy as virtue is foul beneath the holy sky. And her kisses will wanton the world away in passion that shall not die. Ye shall laugh and love and follow her dance. When the wrath of God is gone. And dream no more of hell and hate in the Birth of BABALON.

The birth of Babalon
(John Whiteside Parsons, 1914 -1952)

 
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