A STRONG CITY

Beauty and splendor were on every hand:

Yet strangely crawled dark shadows down the lanes,

Twisting across the fields, like dragon-shapes

That smote the air with blackness, and devoured

The life of light, and choked the smiling world

Till it grew livid with a sudden age —

The death of hope.

O squandered happiness;

Vain dust of misery powdering life's fresh flower!

The sky was holy, but the earth was not.

Men ruled, but ruled in vain; since wretchedness

Of soul and body, for the mass of men,

Made them like dead leaves in an idle drift

Around the plough of progress as it drove

Sharp through the glebe of modern days, to plant

A civilized world. Ay; civilized — but not Christian!

Civilization is a clarion voice

Crying in the wilderness; a prophet-word

Still unfulfilled. And lo, along the ways

Crowded with nations, there arose a strife;

Disturbance of men; tongues contradicting tongues;

Madness of noise, that scattered multitudes;

A trample of blind feet, beneath whose tread

Truth's bloom shrank withered; while incessant mouths

Howled “Progress! Change!” — as though all moods of change

Were fiats of truth eternal.

‘ Mid the din

Two pilgrims, faring forward, saw the light

In a strong city, fortified, and moved

Patiently thither. “All your steps are vain,”

Cried scoffers. “There is mercy in the world;

But chiefly mercy of man to man. For we

Are good. We help our fellows, when we can.

Our charity is enormous. Look at these

Long rolls of rich subscriptions. We are good.

‘ T is true, God's mercy plays a part in things;

But most is left to us; and we judge well.

Stay with us in the field of endless war!

Here only is health. Yon city fortified

You dream of — why, its ramparts are as dust.

It gives no safety. One assaulting sweep

Of our huge cohorts would annul its power —

Crush it in atoms; make it meaningless.”

The pilgrims listened; but onward still they moved.

They passed the gates; they stood upon a hill

Enclosed, but in that strong enclosure free!

Though earth opposed, they held the key to heaven.

On came the turbulent multitude in war,

Dashing against the city's walls; and swept

Through all the streets, and robbed and burned and killed.

The walls were strong; the gates were always open.

And so the invader rioted, and was proud.

But sudden, in seeming triumph, the enemy host

Was stricken with death; and still the city stayed.

Skyward the souls of its defenders rose,

Returning soon in mist intangible

That flashed with radiance of half-hidden swords;

And those who still assaulted — though they crept

Into the inmost vantage-points, with craft —

Fell, blasted namelessly by this veiled flash,

Even as they shouted out, “The place is ours!”

So those two pilgrims dwelt there, fortified

In that strong city men had thought so frail.

They died, and lived again. Fiercest attack

Was as a perfumed breeze to them, which drew

Their souls still closer unto God. And there

Beauty and splendor bloomed untouched. The stars

Spoke to them, bidding them be of good cheer,

Though hostile hordes rushed over them in blood.

And still the prayers of all that people rose

As incense mingled with music of their hearts.

For Christ was with them: angels were their aid.

What though the enemy used their open gates?

The children of the citadel conquered all

Their conquerors, smiting them with the pure light

That shone in that strong city fortified.