Classic Poem

Horrified to hear such language
From a man so old and saintly,
" Sir," I said, " at first I took you
For a clergyman, or priest!

" Now I hear you thus blaspheming,
I conclude that you're no parson —
Mother Church perchance has thrust you
Scornfully beyond its doors?"

" Sir," he said, " your guess is clever!
Once I was in holy orders
(Long ago) and for my blunders
Heaven's Archbishop kick'd me out!

" Since that time, sir, I've been busy
Prowling up and down your planet,
Whence I've come to this conclusion —
All Religion is a Fraud!"

Like a spectacled Magician
Rose the man as he proceeded,
Blinking calmly down upon me
Thro' his glasses, with a smile;
Tall and lean he tower'd above me,
Looming 'gainst the moonlit heaven,
Baleful rays of something evil
Glimmering from his rheumy eyes.

" Yes," he mutter'd, gazing upward;
" Though the stars may shine their brightest,
Though the Churches shriek their loudest,
God is utterly played out!"

" Blasphemy!" I cried. " Our Maker
Is , and works in His own fashion:
How shall purblind human creatures
Comprehend His works and laws?

" Shall ephemerae of a moment,
Fluttering for a breath, then fading,
Fathom the Eternal Glory
Of the loving Lord of all?

" What we see of sin and sorrow
Is but darkness of the vision —
Far beyond it God the Father
Moveth to some fair Event!

" In due season those who love Him
Shall awake to understanding —
Meantime, certain of His wisdom,
Patiently they watch and wait!"

" So they tell us in the Churches,"
Said the Stranger: " so the Human,
Blindly hoping and despairing,
Postulates a God of Love!

" Since the world appears so evil,
It must surely be delusion!
So they argue in a circle,
Proving blindly, black is white!

" All the while their great Creator,
Moving to the Event you speak of,
Freely scatters His damnation
On two-thirds of living things!

" Let the Preacher and the Poet
Dream the old sweet dream of Heaven;
Meantime, God reminds them daily
Of a warmer place below!

" Read my Newspaper! the journal
Of the Inferno He created!
Tir'd of that, peruse the pages
Mark'd by History's bloody hand!

" Sheol burnt from the beginning,
Sheol burns to-day around us —
Countless millions of you mortals
Fail to feed its hungry fires!

" City still has followed City
Down this crater of damnation —
Still it yawns, — and o'er it London
Smokes, like Babylon of old!

" Here and there, from Hell and Chaos,
Some fair type is seen emerging —
Pleased to find His work so pretty,
God approves it for a space;

" Then, dissatisfied and peevish,
Crushes it with foot or fingers!
Greece, Rome, Egypt, thus have perish'd,
Yet the fires of Hell burn on!"