Explore "Fighting" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.