Classic Poem

On a battlefield confined
By the four walls of a mind,
Two great spirits, stern and strong,
Battled fiercely—Right and Wrong.

Sometimes Wrong with sudden thrust
Threw Right headlong in the dust;
Then would Right with might and main
Shake his foe and rise again.

Years and years the battle raged,
And the man grew bent and aged;
Till at last, his time being o'er,
Death came knocking at the door.

‘Let me in,’ the angel said,
‘God hath sent me, have no dread;
For the fight so well maintained
Endless rest on high hath gained.’