Classic Poem

Wroth to hear him still blaspheming,
Pitying, ne'ertheless, his blindness,
Since the years had snow'd upon him
And his face lookt worn and weary,

" Thinkest thou," I cried, " the Father,
Wise, omnipotent, all-seeing,
Ever would consign His children
To an anguish everlasting?

" Nay, there is no Hell, save only
Conscience working deep within us,
Warning us 'gainst sin and evil,
Ever whispering " Repent! " "

Smiling quietly, the Stranger
Answer'd, " Sin is God's invention!
Often have I doubted Heaven —
Never have I doubted Hell!

" Look around. Hell is . Of all things
Made by God, the one thing certain."
Then with twinkling eyes he added,
" Just as soon, I'd doubt the Devil!"

Lost in utter indignation
Scornfully I turned upon him:
" Cease thy blasphemy! No magic
Can recall the Prince of Evil!

" Nay! for Man has passed for ever
From those caves of superstition
Where that image cloven-footed
Of our sin was first created.

" Hell is not , — nor any Spirit
Wholly lost and wholly evil.
He who dares believe in either
Out of ignorance blasphemes."

" Pardon me," he smiling answer'd —
" What was done by old Magicians
Still is easy — Modern magic
Still is potent, be assured!

" Think of all the woes of Nature!
Picture, then, the Prince of Evil,
As thy conscience can conceive him —
Straightway he shall stand before you!

" Yet I warn you, you may find him
Neither tail'd nor cloven-footed —
Nay, a person civil-spoken,
And extremely sympathetic!"

Even as he spake, his features
Shone with vitreous rays reflected
From the Heavens above him bending,
And his eyes grew bright as stars;

And meseem'd his form dilated
As with soot-black wings, expanding
Into something strange and baleful,
Shadowy, mystical, and sad.

Like some ragged ancient raven
Stood he fluttering before me, —
While the moonlight's tremulous fingers
Smooth'd his woeful hoary hair!

Straightway, then, methought I knew him,
Shrinking back in trepidation,
Crying " Get behind me, Satan!"
Trembling in the act to fly!