Christian (A Poem)

 

I dreamed I stood upon a hill, and, lo!
    The godly multitudes walked to and fro
    Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitly clad,
    With pious mien, appropriately sad,
    While all the church bells made a solemn din --
    A fire-alarm to those who lived in sin.

    Then saw I gazing thoughtfully below,
    With tranquil face, upon that holy show
    A tall, spare figure in a robe of white,
    Whose eyes diffused a melancholy light.
    "God keep you, stranger," I exclaimed.  "You are
    No doubt (your habit shows it) from afar;

    And yet I entertain the hope that you,
    Like these good people, are a Christian too."
    He raised his eyes and with a look so stern
    It made me with a thousand blushes burn
    Replied -- his manner with disdain was spiced:
    "What!  I a Christian?  No, indeed!  I'm Christ."

-- Ambrose Bierce