tal. But the hour of trial is past;
The event is sure; and now I ope my heart
And show to you what few of living men
Have guessed--my final secret.

FAUST

Play no tricks.
Before me, Satan; try no mumming game.
If you speak truth, let riddles cloak it not.

SATAN

Listen, and be truth's judge. I am not such
As men esteem me; and my spirit's springs
Rise not from buried and infernal realms,
But like your own, out of the fount of God
They have their being. I, though lowliest far,
Yet am a servant of the House of God--
Deputed to mine office by His hand,
And on His mission.

FAUST

You are trifling with me.

SATAN

I speak the gospel of the living God.

FAUST

Are you not Lord of Evil? God doubtless asks
That service of you?

SATAN

God is infinite,
Likewise His wisdom. His omniscience wills
That I go forth among the haunts of men
And offer evil to their touch. Thereby,
Some spurn me--and the force whereby they spurn
Lifts them up nearer to His arms. Some take
The sin I offer, fall from grace, go down--
And lost in fathomless gulfs of wickedness,
Cry out with utter yearning to His love
That it may save them, and repentant turn
Their prodigal faces toward His doors again,
Never to wander more. But some few souls,
Who neither spurn temptation nor repent
After their fall--these unregenerate
It is mine office wholly to destroy
And cleanse the universe for the praise of God.
Thus does all evil serve His mighty throne,
And all return to Him.

FAUST

I have no power
To take the measure of the words you speak.
Why tell me such things?

SATAN

I would tell you all
And show to you at last your destiny.
The vanities of the world, the woes and sins,
Are but the acid by whose fiery touch
I sort the gold from out the transient brass
And purify and fine it that it be
Worthy God's altar. My beloved friend,
Such was your trial; thus have I tempted you
With things averse to God, with forms and faiths
Outcast and separate from Him. You have seen
The whole world's vanities; you have come to know
That in this world's illusion is no power
Whose love is refuge: even the living death
Of cold Nirvana frights you. Thus at last,
Knowing that you are powerless, and the world
Bare of salvation for your feebleness,
You stand on this great threshold; and your eyes
That see despair an