I dreamed I stood upon a hill, and, lo! <br />The godly multitudes walked to and fro <br />Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitly clad, <br />With pious mien, appropriately sad, <br />While all the church bells made a solemn din -- <br />A fire-alarm to those who lived in sin. <br />Then saw I gazing thoughtfully below, <br />With tranquil face, upon that holy show <br />A tall, spare figure in a robe of white, <br />Whose eyes diffused a melancholy light. <br />'God keep you, stranger,' I exclaimed. 'You are <br />No doubt (your habit shows it) from afar; <br />And yet I entertain the hope that you, <br />Like these good people, are a Christian too.' <br />He raised his eyes and with a look so stern <br />It made me with a thousand blushes burn <br />Replied -- his manner with disdain was spiced: <br />'What! I a Christian? No, indeed! I'm Christ.'<br /><br />Ambrose Bierce<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christian-7/
