The Great War

from Poems of the Great War, an electronic edition


The doors of life are two;

And, on some midnight still,

The Lord shall pass your way, and do

According to your will.

For, lo, if your desire

Be set upon the hearth,

There He will kindle you a fire,

Pleasant and of the earth;

And you shall take delight

For ever in that flame,

But not again shall come a night

When He will call your name.

Or, if you count it sin

That darkness wrap His shrine,

His breath shall light instead therein

The spark that is divine;

No shelter from the cold,

No ease it shall afford --

But by that gleam you shall behold

The glory of the Lord.

Now choose you!... nor forget,

Choosing this last alone,

The blood upon your lintel set

For sign, must be your own.