where are my nameless saints where are the angels with their feathered wings to carry me down into hell when they do come , are they the last beautiful thing that you see as you go down into the lake of fire , can you still follow their progress heavenward can you hope for one last glimpse of their golden trumpets , and their upturned faces reflecting the radiance of the face of god what do i know of heaven for long moments i stood there , staring at the distant night-scape of pure clouds , and then back at the twinkling lights of the new hotels , flash of headlamps .