Though the heathen hath triumphed upon the earth, I go to
thy bosom, for all things are now accomplished." And he tumbled
forward, dead. The last Pope! I had seen him. Nothing could happen
after that.
And as I turned my boat in the direction of the sea a moaning came
upon the waters. The sky became as brass. A roar, like the rending
asunder of the firmament, caused my soul to expand with horror and
joy. Yes, time _was_ accomplished. The last Pope had uttered the
truth. Eternity was nigh. But the Buddha would now prove to the
multitudes awakened from their long sleep that _He_, not other
gods, was the true, the only God. In a flare of light sounded the
trumpets of destiny; eternity unrolled before me, and on the vast
plain I saw the bones of the buried dead uniting, as men and women
from time's beginnings arose in an army, the number whereof is
unthinkable. And oh! abomination of desolation, the White Horse,
not _Kalki_ the tenth incarnation of Vishnu, but the animal
foretold in _their_ Apocalypse, came through the lightnings, and in
the whirlwinds of flame and thunder I saw the shining face of Him,
the Son of Man! Where our Buddha? Alas! the last Pope spake truth.
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