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