The Raven

No soul needs to end up trapped under the shadow of the raven as in The Raven (Edgar Allen Poe). As in:

‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.’

Why not? Well, because the writer implores this question:

—‘tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"’

The answer to this is ‘Yes’.
            
Today it can be understood the Raven’s answer is actually apt to the question that follows:

‘But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
            Then the bird said "Nevermore”.’

Nevermore need our hopes leave us.
Hope in the balm from Gilead is still with us. Both Elijah’s and a 21st century firm scientific proof of God’s existence are with us.

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