Here is a temple strangely wrought: <br />Within it I can see <br />Two spirits of a diverse thought <br />Contend for mastery. <br /> <br />One is an angel fair and bright, <br />Adown the aisle comes he, <br />Adown the aisle in raiment white, <br />A creature fair to see. <br /> <br />The other wears an evil mien, <br />And he hath doubtless slipt, <br />A fearful being dark and lean, <br />Up from the mouldy crypt. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />* <br /> <br />Is that the roof that grows so black? <br />Did some one call my name? <br />Was it the bursting thunder crack <br />That filled this place with flame? <br /> <br />I move-I wake from out my sleep: <br />Some one hath victor been! <br />I see two radiant pinions sweep, <br />And I am borne between. <br /> <br />Beneath the clouds that under roll <br />An upturned face I see- <br />A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul <br />Was right well known to me! <br /> <br />A man's dead face! Away I haste <br />Through regions calm and fair: <br />Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste <br />The same celestial air.<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fighting-25/
