ot much time passed by before a marvelous heavenly harmony pervaded Lazar's soul. Those heavenly nations were singing a song, from which the dying Tsar recognized these words:
     A dreadful day, but wondrous harvests!
     A flock of souls comes to us from Kosovo.
     Come, ye souls, come nearer to us!
     Two harvests are being reaped on the battlefield
     The one is of life, but the other of death.
     The living harvest is streaming into heaven,
     The angels carry it beneath their wings,
     Carrying it into the kingdom of heaven.
     On Amos' day — a testament for Christians,
     A testament of struggle for the cross and freedom.
     With blood Lazar is to seal the testament
     And to enrich his people eternally.

     Lazar was so moved by the meekness and sweetness of this hymn, that a stream of tears began to flow from his eyes. He was enwrapped in the spirit, and was thus unaware of his tears. But the Turks saw them and interpreted the weeping of the Christian Tsar differently. Some interpreted them as sorrow over the dead generals before him, but others as weakness produced by fear of his impending death. The two heavenly men, however, whom none of the Turks could see, stood by and secretly conversed with each other.
     Then Saint Amos stepped closer to Lazar and gently said to him: "O wondrous Prince, you who celebrate me as your patron saint, are you touched by this wondrous hymn? These holy nations of heaven are rejoicing, because now brethren are drawing near to them from earth. Indeed, most of the brethren, who are coming to them this day, are coming from this field. The Most High has given this day to me, as to His martyr on earth, just as He has given every saint his own day. On this, the very day of your own suffering, I suffered death for the holy faith. Just as the holy heavens offer felicitations and sing hymns to every saint on his day, so are they doing for me today. Thus do the holy heavens glorify God every day through His saints. The prayers of all those mortals who celebrate me at the slava, at the "glory" of the Lord these prayers I offer up, sanctified by incense, before the heavenly King and Sustainer of all. And the souls of the righteous, who depart from earth on my day, I accompany, together with the guardian angels into the shining skies of eternal light and eternal life. In just a little while you, O Prince, will share this day with me, as a saint commemorated on this day. For us in heaven, every sharing of heavenly glory means a doubling of blessedness."
     After he said this, Saint Amos placed his right hand on the face of the dying Prince and said: "Be opened!"
     In that instant, there simultaneously opened for Lazar both visions, the physical and the spiritual. And with both visions he gazed over the battlefield around him. And behold, how new and wondrous everything was! The faces of many of his soldiers, who had received communion yesterday at Samodreza, were as radiant as lighted candles. Around their heads shone halos of light, which were slightly elongated in four directions in the shape of crosses. Beside each of these faces thus illumined, there stood, as if suspended in air, a luminous, translucent man just like this heavenly herald, who was speaking with Lazar.
     However, the Prince saw different faces also. These were warriors like the black earth. Behind their heads there loomed and stooped here and there some sort of monsters as black as tar. The Prince realized that the expression of these loathsome monsters corresponded to the black misdeeds and passions of the sinners against whom the monsters were pressing. He understood moreover that on this broad battlefield there was taking place not only a struggle of men but of spirits as well.
     Hell and earth and heaven had converged in a dreadful clash. The roaring and the clanging, the screeches and the screams, the thunder and the clatter, the shouting and the death rattles the air was filled with all the sounds and noises that can be heard out of throats and nostrils, from hoofs of horses, from metal, from trumpets, from wooden staves, from bones and teeth, from the tightened skin on drums, from wind and rain. The stabbing with swords and spears, the shimmering of silver armor and the glistening of helmets and silver bridles, the fluttering of the green flags of the Asiatics and of the red and white cross-banners of the Christians, the white faces of the European soldiers, the dark-yellow Asiatics and the coal-black Africans, the snowy turbans and the bright red Turkish trousers, the blue and purple dolmans, the yellow and orange boots, the multicolored horses and dogs, the gray camels and the gray falcons. Will the human eye ever be filled with such a display of color from three continents?
     The warriors lunged at each other, some with lightning in their eyes, the others with the pallor of a candle burning down. Horses reared with their teeth exposed by the tightened reins. Every soldier was thinking about how he would slay his enemy or defend himself. The faces of some were a book of horror, of others a book of fury, of others — a book of fright, of still others a book of pain, or of anxiety, or of hope but no feeling or passion was without the utmost tension and the culmination of its strength. One warrior with his eyes closed was expressing his pain with his mouth open. Another with clenched jaws was flashing his scorching wrath in his eyes. Yet another with the creases on his face was showing the mustering of the might of his entire being. Some were falling, struck by the mace of their adversary. Others were pulling arrows out of their body and were clenching their wounds with their hands to stop the bleeding alas, to what avail? In the confusion one soldier kills his closest companion. Another, knocked down, finds death beneath the hoofs of his horse, in which he had trusted as an ally. An arrow overtakes a battler as he flees, while another in the thickest part of the melee remains unscathed.
     Neither physical vision could see nor could physical reason understand, why one thing was happening to one man and something else was happening to another. This fabric and rash of fate can be seen and comprehended only by that other, spiritual vision. Only in Lazar, among all the thousands of warriors, was this spiritual vision opened. And with this other mysterious vision Lazar watched and saw the battle of spirits over men. According to the light or the darkness of the soul of each soldier, either spirits of light or spirits of darkness were rushing up to him. Instantaneously each spirit recognized his own and was seizing his own. With a blow of their hand or a puff of air from their mouth, the mighty angels of heaven were beating the demons, who were like ravenous jackals, off the souls of the cross-bearing knights. But the beasts of hell, though trembling before those holy powers, treacherously flew at every human soul as soon as it would leave a warm body. With repulsive boasts they were snarling at the souls of sinners, and with their claws they were hurling them as with a fishhook with claws that reached to their elbows. But as soon as the angels would overtake them swinging their arm, they would scrunch those claws together into snakelike coils, and the demons would scratch themselves in a monstrous rage. Out of them there moreover came a certain smoke and stench, unknown to earth and to men. Both armies would have been smothered within an hour by that hellish stench, had the angels not annihilated it with the heavenly and vivifying ozone that fills their being.
     So Lazar watched and saw, with honor and terror, how the angels would eventually permit the demons to have some black human soul. But the souls of the righteous they would shelter with their wings, and would take them and carry them up into the heavenly heights. Before his flight into heaven, each angel would turn to Amos and warmly greet him. For this was Amos' feast day. Lazar marveled at the great armies of heaven and hell, which were no smaller than the human armies on the battlefield. Their wrestling over the souls of men represented such a rapid and resolute struggle, that it has no parallel anywhere on earth except within man, in whom opposing thoughts are always at war. For the entire time that Lazar was fixedly gazing at the double battle with his double vision, that heavenly melody filled his ears — a melody that kept him from losing his mind from the terrifying sights:
     "A flock of souls comes to us from Kosovo. Come, ye souls, come nearer to us!"