Brian Christopher Poczos - A Promise of Gold lyrics

I shall place the diadem Upon your Proclosian head And the wreath of the Inner Light Around your crown; Twelve Tribal trumpets Like rows of flaxen stalks Sprouting forth From the Arabian millet; The motet of the Quadregesima Sunday And the bellow of the Cherubim; Bringing order to the great nations-- Thrusting others into the jaws Of Symplegades.