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 Death and The Reporter 
 
 AN ALLEGORY 
 
 "And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy 
 
 seed and her seed ; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shall 
 
 bruise his heel." Genesis 3 : 15. 
 
 MONFORT & CO., PRINT. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 IQI2
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 JAMES PORTEOUS 
 
 English Rights 
 Reserved
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Several years ago a now prominent railroad official 
 said to the writer: "If you want to know what the rail- 
 road will do, imagine yourself in the position of the 
 railroad, and see what you would do." 
 
 Somewhat used to the hard lines of practical business 
 methods, which in these days are ever changing, and 
 which can be used but for a short time without change, 
 I have often looked with admiration at the Book of Re- 
 vealed Truth, admiring much the plan or manner in 
 which it gives to all an equal opportunity giving to the 
 savage an equal chance with the most cultured; appeal- 
 ing to and gaining friends and followers from all the 
 various walks of humanity, both young and old, in all 
 ages, in every country, without regard to the ever-chang- 
 ing state of knowledge and the development of Science. 
 
 A book which would tell of the beginning of things 
 even of the earth without writing a treatise on 
 geology and kindred sciences (I doubt if such a volume 
 could have been understood through all the ages the 
 Bible has been used), and that would hold the minds of 
 
 213217S
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 men as no other book ever has, during the darkest ages 
 as well as in these times when the light is breaking, and 
 which, I doubt not, will hold them even in the highest 
 development of Science; and when the human race, 
 through the influence of this book, has t>een more fully 
 developed, and men have a wider and more compre- 
 hensive view of the world's history, they may then realize 
 that the manner in which the Bible is written is the best 
 possible, all circumstances considered. 
 
 If I have dared to imagine and portray the motives 
 of some of the main actors therein, I claim no patent or 
 advantage, but give to every one the same opportunity. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 Professor of the soothing art, 
 
 Who stills for aye the troubled heart, 
 
 Mine is a reporter's task; 
 
 So you will pardon when I ask: 
 Have you any meeting times? 
 Or meet you oft as day declines, 
 
 With your partners in the trade 
 
 Of killing men, and jokes parade 
 Gruesome and cruel? 
 
 Or is your way all dark and bare 
 Of everything but fixed despair? 
 Forever wandering alone, 
 As miserable as the home 
 You ofttimes wreck. 
 
 Death: 
 
 Presumptuous man! Has now the fitful reign 
 Of reason left your troubled brain, 
 
 That thus you dare to talk with me? 
 But your profession is an ancient one, 
 I much respect ; and could I overcome 
 
 My loathing for your race, I might you tell 
 Strange truths, until your head would swell. 
 Eons on eons ago, as thus you speak of time, 
 I did affiliate somewhat with your line.
 
 6 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 It would be difficult even to explain ; 
 We did some business, though, without the name. 
 But should I tell you of the things 
 Which your suggestion to me brings, 
 
 Do you, half God, half beast, a man, 
 Think for a moment that the plan 
 
 Of vast Creation you can grasp? 
 You who in sleep pass half the time 
 That you should knowledge gain, seems almost a crime. 
 So little you can spare, from babyhood till when 
 My business calls for you, and then 
 
 What do you know ; canst tell it, if you know. 
 It is not so with us we never sleep; 
 Witness the ceaseless cry of those who weep. 
 But night and day, age after age, we ever 
 Learn more and more, and drink of Lethe's waters 
 never. 
 
 It is not so with you 
 A poor, untutored creature of a day. 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 That may be so; I'm glad in olden times 
 You had to write about events and crimes, 
 
 If that is what you meant. Our business, as you 
 know, 
 
 Takes no excuse. I always have to go 
 Where others shrink; so now will it please you 
 That I write up this interview? 
 
 Have you any comrades here 
 (Unseen, unheard, yet very near) ? 
 That must be so; for many a one 
 Has gone the way he would not, and might shun, 
 But for some power like you, 
 Even in this short interim.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 7 
 
 Now tell me. When you meet 
 
 Your busy partners going down the street, 
 
 Do you stop and talk? Or do you meet sometimes 
 In an appointed place, comparing notes, designs, 
 And general business, as the doctors do? 
 When prospects are not good and cases few, 
 
 You never raise the price, and never did combine 
 Overproduction to restrain with fine 
 
 Or other penalty. But when, you meet 
 The place, the time, and what you do 
 That is what I want to know. 
 
 Death: 
 
 You crazy sample of a crazy race, 
 Another Babel might confound your face. 
 
 Men get more saucy now in threescore years 
 
 Than when the Flood silenced their ribald jeers. 
 But should I tell you of a meeting, when 
 All creatures gathered higher grade than men ; 
 
 Not one was left, from Seraph next the throne 
 
 To vilest reptile of hell's torrid zone, 
 Language might fail ideas to convey; 
 Even could you think, as think you will some day. 
 
 Yet I will try (and you must listen well) 
 
 The crisis in eternal truth to tell. 
 But in your language can I e'er portray 
 The main events of vast eternity? 
 
 Can words or imagery which you know 
 
 Describe those scenes of long ago? 
 Even were you versed in heaven's lore, 
 I still would hesitate before 
 
 I should essay the task. 
 
 How can I leave the impress on your mind 
 Of what did happen, long before your kind
 
 g DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Indorsed the great rebellion which gave birth to 
 time, 
 
 And wrecked and ruined eve/y hope of mine? 
 You see but now I talk with mortal man 
 Where to begin, so you can grasp the plan, 
 
 Or catch a glimmering idea where, 
 
 I hardly know, though surely I was there. 
 So much do I in vision now recall, 
 Where will I start? I have been through it all. 
 
 Now, then, if you Eternity can grasp, 
 
 Or one small portion not your mind to rasp, 
 
 Before the little globe on which you stand, 
 
 Or any of the stars you think so grand, 
 Or any of the stars, whose grandeur gone, 
 Their luster vanished, now in darkness roam, 
 
 Were star mist; or ever even in the mind 
 
 Of any of the angel kind 
 The dream that this outlying waste 
 Would be perchance in their possession placed, 
 
 A universe to frame as now you see 
 
 Grasp you the idea, or will it be 
 Too much for you? Well, then, I really fear 
 We have no units and no cycles here 
 
 To express the portion of eternity that's cursed 
 
 To me. What is to come would burst. 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 Well, now, Professor, never mind the date, 
 
 For hazy figures are the thing I hate. 
 
 Begin your story "Once upon a time." 
 It is the facts that figure in a crime. 
 
 Death: 
 
 There was no time no rolling orb to mark 
 The flight of eons. There was nothing dark.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 9 
 
 Beamed in effulgent light the Great'/ Am; 
 
 Shone with resplendent glory every one. 
 Your language fails again; yes, even mine 
 Fails to convey the brightness of that time. 
 
 Pardon the use of words where they do not express. 
 
 But time will soon begin it is the end of bliss. 
 But say, what do you do when bright ideas rise; 
 Not earth-born ones, but beaming from the skies? 
 
 You pull them down, and gauge them by that speck, 
 
 Your little brain, and does it not object? 
 
 Supposing, now, that strength of mind 
 (All else being equal) you did find 
 
 Depends on size of head; 
 
 And then suppose that yours, instead 
 Of this small speck, was mountain size, 
 Or even like a globe that rolls the skies; 
 
 There might be something you now dimly grasp, 
 
 Or can not see at all, not even rasp, 
 In scintillation, which then might be 
 As plain to you as any A, B, C. 
 
 Or are you of a scoffing cast 
 
 Giggle and jabber loose and fast 
 At things you can not comprehend, 
 Since your horizon marks your end; 
 
 Yourself the only great / Am, 
 
 The only center of the plan 
 
 Standard to measure God and man? 
 
 Ah! if you only all could see 
 
 What these few words suggest to me! 
 
 It broke Eternity in two, 
 
 Manned hell with a rebellious crew; 
 Made me a wanderer with the scythe, 
 Killing the weary and the blithe;
 
 IO DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 It tried to wreck the throne of love, 
 Brought the Almighty from above 
 
 Bemeaned him to atone for you. 
 
 Now, then, if you would dimly grasp 
 A hazy outline of the past, 
 
 There is a point afar off yet, 
 
 Known to the master of the pit 
 And to omniscient God alone; 
 And though discussed much from the throne 
 
 Of hell, I still admit the mystery 
 
 That hangs around this part of heaven's history. 
 But do you know, that mystery to me 
 Is but the proof, as you may see, 
 
 That we, the creatures (not creators), are 
 
 Bounden on all sides, near or far, 
 According to the size we were create? 
 Beyond these bounds is mystery; if elate 
 
 We cross these bounds, we find 
 
 Impossibilities, incongruous facts, that blind 
 And leave us so completely lost in mist 
 That we may even doubt if we exist. 
 
 But still I think that you can see quite plain 
 
 God did create, and also without blame, 
 Angels of light, with freedom so complete, 
 The choice of good and evil in them meet. 
 
 But where was Evil until then? 
 
 And what is Evil? where and when 
 Did it evolve? is, I suppose, 
 The question now that you propose. 
 
 But you are in a bad condition 
 
 To figure out that proposition. 
 
 Can you grasp the situation?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER- II 
 
 Biased from childhood until now, 
 Who can see clearly from that brow? 
 
 Ingrained in every thought you breathe, 
 
 Sins, like a second nature, weave 
 Their tangled webs, blur and distort 
 The truth of which you hear report; 
 
 And many a mind they paralyze, 
 
 The truth might find, if otherwise; 
 And are so quiet, though so strong, 
 You think that all but you are wrong. 
 
 Is it not foolishness for men 
 
 To think that they should have such ken, 
 That they can prove more truths in years 
 Than angels do in centuries? 
 
 How do you mortals e'er intend? 
 
 How do you think that you will spend 
 Eternity, if now you know it all, 
 
 And nothing have to learn? 
 Yet many a man where I have been 
 Has talked as eons he had seen; 
 
 And some so positive were they 
 
 (These upstart creatures of a day), 
 That when they get where spirits dwell, 
 They will have something there to tell; 
 
 Some ism of their massive brain 
 
 They will endeavor to explain. 
 Will they? 
 
 But what is Evil? Still you ask, 
 Then search the record of the vast 
 Eternity that's rolling past. 
 
 When God, the great Creator, made 
 
 The laws which firmaments obeyed, 
 One subtle law he made for all 
 The law which made the apple fall.
 
 12 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Not one so large dare disobey, 
 Nor one so small evade it may; 
 But ever as they swing around, 
 Each to the other bows profound; 
 Millions of miles may be apart, 
 Yet feel as if each had a heart; 
 That to one family they belong, 
 Bound by that subtle law so strong. 
 Not only on their surface belt 
 It to their very core is felt. 
 It finds no rock too hard to pierce, 
 Ether too rare or fire too fierce; 
 But it must every part pervade. 
 It almost seems that He who made 
 And gave it birth, made it to show 
 To his creation here below 
 
 How omnipresent God could be, 
 Although His face we can not see. 
 (Before that God made gravitation, 
 Love was the tie that bound creation; 
 And love may yet creation bind, 
 When gravity is out of mind.) 
 
 But now suppose that some high rock, 
 Some overgrown and ponderous block, 
 Some globe that always has obeyed, 
 Should break that law, and on a raid 
 Of fearful wreck and carnage go, 
 As you would say down here below; 
 And further still, let us suppose 
 That as the outlaw onward goes, 
 Not only other stars it smash 
 With wreck and ruin and fearful crash, 
 But all the stars feel with the stroke 
 That the great family tie is broke,
 
 WSATH AND THE REPORTER. 13 
 
 As now you know they always feel 
 Just where the other star does wheel, 
 
 And all its actions part control 
 
 As if the masses had a soul. 
 But now they know the law is gone; 
 Each one pursues its way alone; 
 
 No longer waltz the wheeling maze; 
 
 Crash, and embrace with lustful ways, 
 Or skulking, their own way pursue, 
 A sulking, God-forsaken crew. 
 
 No longer has each globe a heart, 
 
 But flies to pieces every part; 
 And chaos rules where laws sublime 
 Once reigned. To think it is a crime. 
 
 Perhaps you say stars can not think, 
 But feel as cool when on the brink 
 
 Of some grand smash, as when they froze, 
 
 As the glacial era slowly rose; 
 
 And if they warmed upon embrace, 
 These lumps of matter have no face, 
 
 No hands, no ears, no eyes, or nose, 
 
 To tell them how the mercury goes; 
 No brain to figure out the laws, 
 Nothing to say, "It is because"; 
 
 As this is that, that must be so; 
 
 The whole idea is no go. 
 
 Well, then, put on your thinking cap 
 And hit these little thoughts a rap. 
 
 Had the Creator been content 
 
 With only making firmament; 
 
 Content with rolling balls in space, 
 With none to wish to see his face; 
 
 Content with orbs of fearful size, 
 
 Tremendous matter without eyes;
 
 14 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Content with making laws to rule, 
 
 Which none could break and be a fool; 
 Content with being the / Am, 
 With none to see the wondrous plan 
 
 Of vast creation good and great, 
 
 But blind he might have sat in state; 
 And none could tell, as none would know; 
 But dead around their courses go. 
 
 Now (for you are supposed to think) 
 
 Be all attention, do not shrink, 
 And see if in your muddled brain 
 The truth I'm trying to explain 
 
 Dawns, in a feeble way, perhaps; 
 
 Yet the idea you may catch. 
 For well I know, though sin-curst sore, 
 The Spirit, in the days of yore, 
 
 Breathed in thy nostrils the breath of life. 
 
 Knowledge of good and evil, and of strife, 
 Were earned for you very soon 
 Can you escape from that harpoon? 
 
 But still I know, though buried deep, 
 
 Godlike ideas in you sleep; 
 And Godlike sense of right and wrong, 
 However bound by Satan's thong, 
 
 Can never altogether be 
 
 Crushed out ; but when the truth you see, 
 An innate feeling struggles hard 
 To claim its friendship and regard. 
 
 Well, then, let us the two compare: 
 A God who leaves creation bare 
 Of higher life, else should he dare 
 
 Make heads that think and hearts that will, 
 
 They knowing *ot the fearful ill
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1 3 
 
 That breaking God's laws must needs entail, 
 
 To keep their proper place might fail. 
 Or such a God, as now we fear, 
 Who made all in their proper sphere; 
 
 Not only matter gross, and space, 
 
 But every creature, every race; 
 Some almost Godlike, who obey; 
 Some who were Godlike, but said "Nay," 
 
 And wrought the ruin that you see, 
 
 Entailed on you, usurped by me. 
 You say the latter; you are right; 
 The difference is as day and night. 
 
 Then listen to me, mortal man: 
 
 Long, long ere space or time began ; 
 Long, long before the star-mist graced 
 Heaven's wilderness, or rarest ether chased 
 
 The twinkling light streaming from the throne ; 
 Long, long ere chaos in tumultuous mass 
 (If such you think e'er came to pass) 
 
 Held carnival in space; 
 Long, long ere ever there was mind 
 Of any other name or kind, 
 
 The Eternal God existed. 
 The limit of each mind appears 
 In grasping at those endless years. 
 
 The more you grasp, and grasping strain, 
 
 Recedes the past, you search in vain 
 
 All limit is within our brain. 
 Yes, when a part would grasp the whole, 
 The part that's grasped betrays that soul. 
 
 Angels God created then, 
 
 Who, if described to mortal men, 
 
 They would attempt to worship them.
 
 j6 DEATH AND THE REPORTED 
 
 Oh, how beautiful the ages! 
 But all hell within me rages 
 
 When I think; but I never, 
 
 I the only tie did sever, 
 
 And now broken is forever. 
 
 How to tell, and not describe it! 
 Remorseless hell! who can abide it? 
 
 But you know how gravitation 
 
 Permeates the mute creation; 
 How it binds the parts together 
 With a tie that none can sever. 
 
 Oh, that such a tie had merit! 
 
 It could bind immortal spirit! 
 But it binds no higher creature 
 Than the mongrel of coarse feature, 
 
 In God's image first created 
 
 Out of earth, so strangely fated. 
 But the tie with which God bound us 
 To himself and all around us, 
 
 Mortal man, for want of better 
 
 Words to speak or words to letter, 
 
 In his sin-benumbing fetter, 
 Calls it love! Such name is given 
 The highest force in earth or heaven; 
 
 An older force than gravitation; 
 
 The strongest force in all creation. 
 A force that your old book hath said 
 Changed names with God, who all things made. 
 
 Think what else God e'er created, 
 
 With such honor to be sated. 
 Yea, when he to living mortals 
 Gave a glimpse through heaven's portals, 
 
 There in all his glory reigning, 
 
 He described himself, by naming
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 17 
 
 The one chain by which he bound us 
 To himself, and all around us; 
 
 Chose it from all the hosts above, 
 
 And said to mortals, "God is love." 
 Love is to the human mind the same 
 As gravity to things of grosser name! 
 
 God's overwhelming love made every spirit glow 
 
 With love first to his God, then to all else below. 
 
 This overflowing love bound all in ecstasy. 
 But this force, though strong as ever, 
 Will not bind where heart says "Never"; 
 
 Will not, can not be a fetter 
 
 Binds no one who says that "better 
 I can do." Freemen only it will bind ; 
 In slaves a heart it can not find. 
 
 And hearts alone its bondage feel; 
 
 Outside of hearts it must congeal. 
 But the bonds which freemen bind 
 Can be looked at with the mind ; 
 
 Be compared and analyzed, 
 
 Be rejected or be prized; 
 Will not stay when heart says "Go," 
 Will not bind when heart says "No." 
 
 In this force with which he bound us 
 To himself and all around us, 
 
 One there was of highest mind 
 
 The brightest of the angel kind ; 
 
 The first creation of God's hand, 
 The first of all the glorious band; 
 
 Created long before the rest, 
 
 Of all God's gifts he had the best. 
 But it should well be understood, 
 God's gifts are for the common good. 
 
 Those who get most have most to give, 
 
 Learned we in Old Eternity. 
 
 2
 
 l8 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Who join not in the distribution, 
 God's gifts will sour in retribution, 
 Learned we in Time. 
 
 He with the self -existent One, 
 
 The Father, Spirit, and the Son, 
 Existed eons long before 
 We were created to adore. 
 
 But when it was, or how it came, 
 
 Envy did his heart inflame; 
 
 'Tis getting well outside my scope 
 Hardly within my range of thought. 
 
 But I have heard it somewhere said, 
 
 When Love's analysis was made, 
 
 When he this force did analyze 
 Purest found in all the skies 
 
 When he found how it did bind 
 
 All to God of every kind 
 
 Although it was no slavish chain, 
 True love is free, free must remain 
 
 Ecstatic joy bound every one; 
 
 'Twas static love the immanence of God 
 
 This bond of love. 
 He saw and wondered how God felt 
 When every one before him knelt 
 Bound by such love. 
 
 Full well he knew Love's secondary glow ; 
 
 The primal incept could he ever know. 
 
 He dreamed, and wondered how t'would feel 
 Should every one before him kneel, 
 
 Bound by some force to own him King, 
 
 Great sovereign of everything. 
 
 He dreamed, then thought how he might bind us 
 To himself, could he but blind us. 
 
 He dreamed, then wished, then glanced above, 
 
 And God, from envy, ceased to love.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1 9 
 
 This is sin to cease to love. 
 
 Sin is but the lack of love, 
 As darkness is the lack of light 
 And the comparison is right. 
 
 Witness how your fallen race 
 
 Ever seek with earnest face 
 For something that they feel they lack : 
 Each glittering bauble, taste and smack; 
 Yet how unhappy, until back 
 
 They get the love that they have lost. 
 
 Redeemed for them at such a cost. 
 Witness how within me rages 
 Lack of love or hate for ages; 
 
 Hell was heaven compared with feeling 
 
 Hate where love was used to kneeling, 
 As it used to kneel above 
 Ere I sinned or ceased to love. 
 
 But you say, Is all this sinning. 
 
 All this drinking, swearing, gaming. 
 All this theft and peculation, 
 Adultery and fornication, 
 
 Murder, war, and baby killing, 
 
 Slander, lying, ballot rilling, 
 And a thousand other wrongs 
 That you handle without tongs; 
 
 Are they all but lack of love 
 
 To Almighty God above? 
 
 Listen, and I will explain 
 
 A little more of Satan's game. 
 
 When he, the highest in creation, 
 
 Had adopted Love's negation, 
 As he loved, so now he hated 
 Highest power of evil rated. 
 
 Envy still his heart does cherish, 
 
 Envy with despair does relish;
 
 2O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Envy, hatred and despair, 
 
 Unholy trinity, reign there. 
 
 In that heart once purest feeling, 
 Now with wreck and ruin reeling. 
 
 But the Trinity of Love, 
 
 The Almighty God above, 
 
 Only reigns as his creator, 
 Only reigns because his maker; 
 
 Only reigns because that never 
 
 Anything existed ever 
 
 That by him was not created; 
 There is nothing that is fated. 
 
 Was there ever any creature, 
 
 Made he any in his feature, 
 
 Could this mystery explain 
 Grasp existence save in name? 
 
 Did ever you existence doubt? 
 
 Prove it, I can not help you out. 
 
 Say laughing fools and sober sages, 
 God ne'er existed in the ages. 
 
 But to their own existence prove, 
 
 Knew they ever the first move? 
 Existence even unto me 
 Is mystery of mystery. 
 
 But that I am, and I am lost, 
 
 I have found out to my cost. 
 Sin may be but a negation, 
 Pain but mark some castigation, 
 Trouble index alteration, 
 
 Doubt they exist though only may 
 
 Crazy mortals of a day. 
 
 Writhing deep and deeper still, 
 Hate, despair and every ill, 
 
 Obliteration seek forever; 
 
 Says the Almighty never, never.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 21 
 
 This is all for lack of love 
 
 To the Almighty God above; 
 Hate, instead of love's solace; 
 Despair, instead of love's embrace. 
 
 Pain, misfitting, cruel thing; 
 
 Disjointed law has cruel sting. 
 The broken law with which God bound us 
 To himself and all around us, 
 
 Saw Satan and did analyze; 
 
 The broken law was such a prize. 
 He found as if old gravitation 
 Had been broke and shocked creation, 
 
 And made chaos out of space, 
 
 And negatived creative grace; 
 Found he had smashed the only tie 
 Binds joy to time as time does fly, 
 
 If of eternity in song 
 
 You speak as time a-rolling on. 
 Found he had torn the tie that bound 
 Himself to God and all around, 
 
 And that no longer any tie 
 
 Bound those to him he fooled on high, 
 But hate, despair, ruin and wrong, 
 Repellant force, a fearful thong. 
 
 He found that all had felt the shock 
 
 When the great bond of love was broke; 
 Gleamed in his heart one wild despair, 
 He dreamed it had been felt up there, 
 
 Even where the eternal God above 
 
 Knew there was some one less to love. 
 Despaired, not hoped, despaired in vain ; 
 It might in some way have caused pain. 
 
 But who can judge of the I Am? 
 Can any angel, any man?
 
 22 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He who immensity does fill 
 
 Is far above the creature's skill. 
 
 But who can tell how that shock felt 
 To those before the throne who knelt; 
 To those whose love we all had known, 
 And joined with them in many a song? 
 With whom we many a time discussed 
 Creative joy, creative trust, 
 And heaven's loveliness explained 
 Cursed be the feeling that I named. 
 
 But listen, mortal, or I tell; 
 You think it only is in hell; 
 I think that it is over all 
 That sin has cast a fearful pall. 
 
 Witness how many a smiling babe, 
 Who never sinned, yet seeks my aid 
 To rid it from the ills of life, 
 From broken laws and fearful strife. 
 And so thinks Satan; he a race 
 Would ruin if he thought the face 
 Of his Creator would beam less, 
 Or pain his countenance express. 
 
 For that heart, once filled with love, 
 Now seethes with hate to Him above. 
 Now you see all Satan's game, 
 And how he played I will explain. 
 
 When he the broken law surveyed 
 And saw the ruin he had made; 
 
 When he knew Love's subtle force 
 
 From him forever had divorce; 
 
 He felt a void within his heart, 
 An aching void with a fearful dart; 
 
 A shameless and repulsive thing ; 
 
 A shapeless mass with horrid sting
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 2 
 
 That nameless mass there sat in state; 
 
 'Twas nameless then, but now called Hate. 
 He looked again; he had a mind 
 The brightest of the angel kind, 
 
 And many a time on high commission 
 
 Buoyant had felt by the permission 
 Of Him whose love makes duty plain 
 Every command a source of gain. 
 
 Buoyant felt he full many a time, 
 
 Where talents, love and duty chime, 
 To investigate a subtle theme, 
 Entangled, intricate or mean. 
 
 When God unseen the heart supports, 
 
 Who can doubt of the reports? 
 
 But now he sees those tangled laws 
 Some broken, some that had no flaws; 
 
 A fearful mix to analyze 
 
 So hard he works and hard he tries. 
 The broken law of love he found, 
 The law which broke with such rebound. 
 
 It tore from every heart untrue, 
 
 And left for aye the rebel crew. 
 He found this law had joy entwined, 
 And love and joy were of one mind. 
 
 No rebel crew could them embrace; 
 
 Loose one, the other need not chase. 
 Found they had chosen that peaceful realm 
 Where envious foes can not o'erwhelm; 
 
 Found he had chosen a fearful way 
 
 Of ruin, misery and dismay. 
 And still he worked as only he 
 Who next the Lord in mind should be. 
 
 But soon he missed that buoyant sense 
 
 Of Love's support, the longing grew intense;
 
 24 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He searched and found it was not there, 
 And nerved his heart with grim despair. 
 And Hate within him deeper still 
 Buried and nerved his desperate will. 
 
 He found there was another law, 
 
 Strong, ever active, without flaw; 
 
 A law he even could not break 
 A subtle law, which sat in state, 
 
 And held him with a powerful grasp, 
 
 And bound him with its galling clasp, 
 And tied him to the very throne, 
 And He who ever sits thereon; 
 
 The law which says: "Thou shalt exist, 
 
 And never from thy place be missed." 
 When the all-searching eye of God 
 Would offer joy or ply the rod, 
 
 You can not from his presence flee, 
 
 You can not even cease to be; 
 Ever unveiled before his face, 
 Must feel his pleasure or disgrace. 
 
 This law saw Satan, and he nursed 
 
 Revenge as if his head would burst. 
 
 Revenge! But who had done him wrong 
 Exalted highest of the throng 
 
 Of those who worship 'round the throne, 
 
 In mind and power next God alone? 
 Yet even when he sin conceived, 
 And from God's service was relieved, 
 Why was it that he had to leave? 
 
 He tried to ruin all the rest; 
 
 To make hell of heaven tried his best; 
 
 And this to me is no mere jest. 
 
 And even when he was expelled, 
 And the rebellion had been quelled,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 25 
 
 Yea, even then, reluctant, God 
 
 Seemed grieved that he must use the rod 
 Deferred it to a far-off day, 
 Left Satan loose to wend his way; 
 
 Witness the ruin of your race 
 
 Almost the Godhead in disgrace. 
 
 Revenge, where there has been no wrong, 
 
 Is the next thing you look upon. 
 But know that the time since Satan fell, 
 Compared to the time he loved so well, 
 
 Is not as one hour to a million years, 
 
 As heaven's record now appears. 
 You said you did not wish with time 
 To unnerve that brain of thine; 
 
 Yet surely you would like to know 
 
 About how long that was ago; 
 How many times around the sun 
 This ball of yours its course would run. 
 
 But such a clock would never last; 
 
 I've seen them wear out in the past 
 Many a time. 
 
 Then how can I the date express 
 How the long years in language dress 
 When first his swaddling bands apart 
 Time tore, and chilled us to the heart, 
 Till God created gravitation, 
 Which we supposed meant aggravation 
 Of our trouble? 
 
 All he has done since first we fell, 
 We think is done our hearts to quell; 
 
 As if it were for us alone 
 
 All edicts issue from the throne.
 
 26 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He at that time created matter, 
 The shining stuff abroad did scatter 
 Over the part of space you see, 
 And further than your search can be. 
 And then his angels had a time 
 Whirling and massing all the shine; 
 The stars you see, and many more 
 Whose light is out, whose life is o'er, 
 And some that are so far away 
 Their light won't reach here in your day 
 
 Of course we saw the work begin, 
 And quietly stood and took it in; 
 That is, we stood a certain time, 
 Watching the things you call sublime; 
 Watching to see if we could find 
 Some fault of the angelic mind. 
 
 For well we knew there was but One 
 Makes no mistake as eons run; 
 And none but the Eternal King 
 Is always right in everything; 
 
 And only his omniscient power 
 Can run the universe an hour. 
 However carefully we start 
 To do our best and play our part, 
 We creatures always leave our mark, 
 Imperfect as it is, 
 So different from his. 
 Should all created powers combine 
 To emulate the Power divine, 
 To run creation's vast domain, 
 Their efforts all would be in vain. 
 The aggregate of all they know 
 Could never make the systems go; 
 For we must think and we must try, 
 And ever find the reason why.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 2J 
 
 Not so with God. 
 
 He makes the cause produce results ; 
 To do his will each force exults ; 
 And no one dares to disobey, 
 Even had he power to say nay. 
 God sees each corpuscle of blood 
 Your heart throws forth in gushing flood ; 
 He knows the destiny of each 
 The course that destiny to reach, 
 Which every drop will take. 
 What do you know ? Can you explain 
 How blood which nourishes the brain 
 
 Fathers your thought? Or can you tell, 
 When everything is working well, 
 How many corpuscles 'twill take 
 To write a book? 
 
 Oh, man! So proud in act and whim, 
 Little you know what is within! 
 
 How small a part of thyself run, 
 
 Yet boast as if you were the one, 
 
 And only one. 
 
 How in our eyes thy greatness shrivels; 
 You are the laughing stock of devils. 
 
 We are bad, but you are weak. 
 
 We know for weakness where to seek! 
 'Tis not in God. 
 
 And so we watched and watched them well ; 
 It was a change from lower hell, 
 
 A change from those infernal parts, 
 
 Cherishing the vile within our hearts, 
 To nurse with hell's malignant gnaw 
 The hate that filled each devil's maw. 
 
 Closely we searched the various laws 
 
 To see if they had any flaws ;
 
 28 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 All forms of heat, each subtle force, 
 
 Whatever plays on matter gross; 
 
 The gravity with which 'tis bound, 
 And others that would you astound; 
 
 Many you have never named, 
 
 As their existence ne'er inflamed 
 Your half-cracked skull. 
 We looked on for quite a while, 
 And ventured not the plans to rile; 
 
 We watched them closely from the start, 
 
 And then we thought to do our part; 
 For who can tell what the / Am 
 Sees in the future of a plan? 
 
 Sometimes things kept going wrong; 
 
 We let them know where we belong. 
 
 Sometimes we made a fearful smash, 
 And systems mixed with awful crash. 
 
 Thus things went on for quite a while 
 
 I see you are inclined to smile; 
 
 But ne'er a smile or thought of lark 
 Entered the fallen rebel heart. 
 
 But do you know that over all 
 
 Over the great, over the small 
 
 There's One presides, and just so far 
 
 Thou shalt, no further stay just where you are. 
 
 O'er all the plans of men and mice, 
 
 There is a plan that's working nice. 
 
 O'er all the plans of men and devils 
 There is a plan into which shrivels 
 
 All other plans. In fact, they all seem one 
 
 The shining stars, the rolling sun, 
 The highest love of angels' ken, 
 The maudling love of mortal men, 
 
 The bitter hate, the foulest sin, 
 
 All seem a grand old plan within.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 There is a place where heaven keeps 
 A record of each flash that sweeps; 
 A record of each thought you think; 
 A record of each time you wink; 
 A record of all things that are; 
 Not only of each shining star, 
 But diatoms, and every cell, 
 Each have their record kept as well. 
 And whether as an inert mass 
 Whose record you might think a farce, 
 Or free, with power to love or sin, 
 All seem to work one plan within, 
 
 And demonstrate of truth one phase, 
 Whose record in unending lays 
 Is truth. The truth is unto the / Am, 
 The name for all creation's plan; 
 
 All things that are, all that is done 
 Beneath each shining star and sun; 
 All thoughts that ever seraph breathed, 
 All nets that ever demon weaved, 
 
 Are but component parts of truth. 
 All thoughts suggested to enthrall 
 Each time there doth a sparrow fall, 
 Each time a bird its mate may call, 
 
 Each wave that music must vibrate, 
 Each pulse electric, love and hate, 
 There is a record kept of all, 
 Where none are great and none are small. 
 For great and small must I explain 
 Mostly are phantoms of the brain 
 No two alike; thus none can take 
 The other's place, but each must wait 
 And do its share, and thus fulfill 
 Its part of truth for good or ill.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 As the record is ever kept 
 
 By eyelids that have never slept, 
 
 The grand old truth keeps rolling on, 
 Its archives filed in heaven's zone. 
 
 Perhaps you think that gathering news 
 Is but the trade that you did choose ; 
 
 But could you grasp the eternal plan, 
 
 That record keeps of everything; 
 Could you see that record hall 
 Where account is kept of all; 
 
 Of each moment as it flies, 
 
 Each act that therein may arise; 
 
 Of things so small you would despise 
 
 Were they visible to eyes ; 
 Of things so vast you could not grasp 
 Their import till the time was past ; 
 
 Yet there each one is classified, 
 
 Indexed, compared and ratified. 
 How it affects the whole each part 
 Described is by a heavenly art. 
 
 For each part affects the whole 
 
 In some way; and there is no soul, 
 No mind, no beast, no force, no thing, 
 But what on all must influence bring. 
 
 Yes, there the tangled web of life, 
 So mixed with sin, deceit and strife, 
 
 Is straightened out. Each one receives 
 
 Justice. There no make-believes 
 On the wrong page appear; 
 The Source of Light makes all things clear. 
 
 And I think, in fact I know, 
 
 The plan of all above, below, 
 
 The eternal plan, which ever runs 
 Through heaven, hell and dying suns,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 3! 
 
 Will there appear. 
 L,ike some vast piece of tapestry, 
 
 Some threads of gold 
 
 Where good is told, 
 Some threads of green 
 Where envy's seen, 
 
 Blotches of red 
 
 Where blood is shed, 
 Some deepest black 
 Reveal a fact 
 
 Of every shade, of every hue, 
 
 Reveal the plan so true; 
 The vast, harmonious plan, 
 Ne'er visible to man, 
 
 Angels or demons; the dream 
 
 Of the Eternal God. 
 
 Now are you really writing down 
 
 The words escaping from my tongue? 
 
 And do you dream of volumes bound, 
 
 Ranged in straight rows or circling round? 
 
 What you do not know, if written down, 
 
 No hall could hold in any town, 
 
 And space to build would ne'er be given 
 Outside the spacious plains of heaven. 
 
 But now I wish some way to find 
 To tell you of the spirit mind, 
 
 How we communicate together 
 
 Without lips to move the ether. 
 To tell you how our books are written 
 So that nothing is forgotten; 
 
 Where things material ne'er exist, 
 
 Not even an ethereal mist. 
 But I told you at the first 
 Your language now is partly curst,
 
 32 DSATH AND TH REPORTER. 
 
 And not developed, as 'twill be 
 
 In years that you shall never see. 
 You know that words are only signs 
 To the fleshy eyes of minds, 
 
 Where they some kind of impress make 
 
 As like as not a vile mistake 
 
 From what was meant, at any rate. 
 You know how pictures oft obtain 
 A place to help these words explain. 
 
 And you have seen those pictures flashed, 
 
 Their speed your fleshy sight surpassed 
 Those pictures formed by the light, 
 A bungling effort of man's might. 
 
 And you have seen them flashed so quick 
 
 Your perceptions they outwit; 
 The scenes may seem to run or dance, 
 Fight or wriggle, walk or prance; 
 
 And you have heard how sounds are caught 
 
 And reproduced by human art. 
 If all of these things have been done 
 By the crude hand of dying man, 
 
 Just think what may be done in heaven, 
 
 Where the brightest minds are living. 
 When there a book you wish to read, 
 The flashing truth will show each deed 
 
 As it was done on earth below, 
 
 Or anywhere you wish to go. 
 Should you think of matter gross, 
 Wish to examine very close, 
 
 There you do not need a glass, 
 
 The books before your eyes will flash; 
 In size desired each part will show, 
 Till every molecule you know. 
 
 So you can see them far or near, 
 
 In varying size shall things appear,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 33 
 
 That's done by but how can I tell? 
 
 Your 'language fails, your head might swell. 
 Solids you can see through and through 
 Nothing is hidden from your view. 
 
 Dream not of seeing cut or word 
 
 In heaven that might be absurd. 
 
 Most books are living books up there, 
 
 In that land so bright and fair. 
 Now, if 'tis toward history you incline, 
 And wish to know the facts of time, 
 
 It matters not, take any date, 
 
 And ask the book just to relate. 
 The book will talk so you can hear, 
 The sights before your eyes appear; 
 
 Each move that's made, each deed that's done, 
 
 Whether in dark or open sun ; 
 Each noble deed, or what you call 
 Ignoble you can see them all. 
 
 No difference is known up there 
 
 'Tween monarch's hall or savage lair; 
 Not only will the sights appear 
 The accompanying sounds you'll also hear. 
 
 And it will be as if in fact 
 
 You were a witness of each act; 
 As indeed you then will be, 
 When all truth's record you can see. 
 
 And more than that: for what they thought, 
 
 That book can tell as well as not. 
 There is no flight of oratory lost; 
 No price on genius there, neither is there cost. 
 
 There you can see the living, sculptured rock, 
 
 And watch the artist hew it from the block. 
 There you can see deceitful canvas made, 
 To fool your senses with its subtle shade. 
 3
 
 34 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 All the masterpieces will be there, 
 
 And many others which we well might spare. 
 
 So you may think. But, no, there is none lost; 
 
 Nothing was ever done but there can boast 
 Of record. 
 
 Oh, ye mortals! if you but knew, 
 
 How many things you would not do ; 
 How many things were never done, 
 Thought you to face them one by one; 
 
 For which error of thy youth 
 
 Would you search the book of truth? 
 
 How should you guard each spoken word, 
 Knowing 'tis a matter of record. 
 
 But know, O man ! there is one light in heaven 
 
 Can pierce through any creature living; 
 
 Cast on a screen what you have thought, 
 Reveal the dream you thought was naught 
 To any one but you. 
 
 O man ! 'Twill show the cleansing power of blood 
 
 To all eternity. 
 
 No power can ever now erase 
 The writing of your thoughtless ways; 
 
 No chemical can e'er expunge 
 
 From heaven's books the living ones; 
 Neither will it fade away 
 The light but forces it to stay 
 Up there. 
 
 And know you not 
 
 Nothing can ever be forgot 
 In spirit land? 
 
 Only where cell displaces cell 
 Can impressions loosely dwell. 
 
 And know you not 
 
 Or is it far beyond your thought
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 35 
 
 Each ultimate vibration, 
 Whatever the sensation 
 
 Heat, electrical, or light, 
 
 And some invisible as night 
 
 As they were never named by you, 
 Never exposed unto your view 
 
 Yet each has its own number, where 
 
 They have a number for each hair, 
 And has a part of truth to keep 
 For those who on the earth now sleep, 
 Yet live with God to all eternity? 
 
 If such thoughts should stagger you, 
 Think of the years so short and few 
 That you have lived to learn. 
 
 Think of the years that are to come, 
 
 You still may be a learning one, 
 
 Through vast eternity. 
 When time into eternity has passed, 
 Your learning time will ever last ; 
 Ever concealing, ever revealing, the greatness of our God. 
 
 Creation's vast domain, 
 
 Where'er God lives to reign 
 Immortals, mortals, living things, things dead, 
 Are emanations of his heart and head. 
 
 The aggregate of all that he has done, 
 
 Vast though their total sum, 
 
 Compares not with the Holy One. 
 And now just think; it is not all of kings, 
 Emperors or priests, or other bloody things, 
 
 That history is made. The life of each and 
 every one, 
 
 Of all who toiled beneath the sun; 
 With all of their environments, 
 Tendencies inherited, acquirements ;
 
 36 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 All that they did beneath the sky, 
 The scenes will glide, the books tell why 
 For this is history. 
 
 Suppose you read in ancient times 
 How they fared in regal lines, 
 
 And wished to know how common people 
 Lived through such hilarious evil. 
 You then could take a common man, 
 Whose life through the whole period ran, 
 And see him live, and hear him talk, 
 Be with him in his daily walk; 
 See all his friends and all his foes, 
 'Most feel his pleasures and his woes ; 
 See how his fathers lived and died, 
 Hear how his children laughed and cried ; 
 And every act should be explained 
 By one who strictest watch maintained 
 
 All the long years. 
 How would that be for history? 
 Not much room left for mystery 
 
 Up there? 
 
 There will be records kept up there 
 Some might wish were kept elsewhere, 
 
 So you think now. 
 But if e'er you think above, 
 Your heart will be so filled with love, 
 Things will not seem as now they do; 
 Center of all, no longer you, 
 
 But the vast we round the I Am. 
 
 But should your wish go further back, 
 Before that man this globe did walk; 
 Suppose you take a mass of rock 
 Burned or cemented in a block,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 37 
 
 And wish to see it as of yore 
 It rolled as pebbles on the shore ; 
 
 The book will take you back that far, 
 
 And make you think that there you are ; 
 There you can wander at your will, 
 Of sights and sounds take in your fill; 
 
 See what then lived, see every weed ; 
 
 Be a spectator of each deed; 
 Till tired, to heaven you wish to roam, 
 And then you feel yourself at home. 
 
 Or should your wish go further back, 
 To see the fireworks of the act ; 
 
 There with the angels you may fly, 
 
 And whirl the atoms in the sky. 
 
 Be with them when the worlds were framed, 
 And learn in heaven how they were named ; 
 
 And you can any atom take 
 
 And trace it from the ethereal state, 
 
 Through every form and compound, 
 Gaseous, liquid, solid ground ; 
 
 Trace it until a frozen mass, 
 
 No change can ever come to pass ; 
 
 Those books will show it unto you, 
 When solid rock you must look through ; 
 
 Wherever it may buried be, 
 
 There it your eye will plainly see. 
 
 All its surroundings they will show 
 So that all things you may know. 
 There's no excuse for ignorance 
 Up there. 
 
 Just think ! Eternity ! Eternity ! Eternity ! 
 To examine all those things ! 
 But it to me such horror brings.
 
 38 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Oh, our worst woe, our growth, is stopped; 
 Our upward way forever blocked. 
 
 Is there development for us? 
 
 The longing how we ever curse. 
 He who his Bible makes his rule, 
 May be in all things else a fool; 
 
 Yet in eons he shall grow, 
 
 Till more than Satan he shall know. 
 Have you not seen, what would in time have been a 
 
 butterfly, 
 
 Stung by the cruel ichneumonidse, 
 And live a fearful life it could not die? 
 
 Such is our fate; no growth for us; 
 
 Ourselves all eaten up, our hearts now nurse 
 Hate ! cruel hate ! where ancient love should reign. 
 Oh! How we nurse this synonym of pain, 
 And curse, and curse, and curse our God again. 
 
 'Tis fearful thus to live; if life it is, 
 
 'Twere better far to die; but death we miss. 
 Oh, could we cease to exist ! but no venomed sting 
 Can give us such release, relief it can not bring. 
 
 Ever we nurse this horrid thing called hate; 
 
 It rancors in our breast, ours is a dreadful fate. 
 When those who soar on high are poring o'er life's book, 
 We in the pit must lie and never upward look; 
 
 Damned, chained and damned, our inwards nursing 
 
 hate, 
 No change but chains for us. No change but chains ! 
 
 But further back you still may go, 
 And more of truth you yet may know. 
 
 The great rebellion you may trace, 
 
 And see its heroes face to face. 
 When now a record you aspire 
 To keep of battle's raging fire;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTl.R. 39 
 
 When now you try the light impress 
 To register the dire distress, 
 
 And agony of struggles fierce 
 
 When men the human bosom pierce, 
 
 Plunge in the throbbing breast the lance, 
 Or music play so death may dance ; 
 
 Then say not this is something new, 
 
 And credit claim for what you do. 
 You are but trying to regain 
 What you have lost by sin and pain. 
 
 For it was done so long ago 
 
 Years can not measure ; far too slow 
 Are centuries to tell the tale; 
 Figures would tire, and words would fail 
 To give the date. 
 
 Language evolved upon this bail 
 
 Can never measure it at all, 
 
 And if it could, you could not grasp 
 The lengthening shadow of the past. 
 
 Yet up above, if e'er you go, 
 
 And the history want to know 
 
 Of scenes before that battle scarred 
 
 The face of heaven, and the record marred 
 
 Of love and truth 'tis written there 
 
 Your privilege is everywhere. 
 
 Then further back and further stiil 
 Till time is lost, and the Eternal Will 
 Is all in all. 
 
 Thought you ever much of time 
 
 How much can grasp that head of thine? 
 As forms the circuit of the earth 
 A base too small to measure with 
 
 The starry heavens, 
 
 So, much too small your lifetime is
 
 4O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To measure vast eternity 
 
 Grand cause of infidelity 
 
 But what is time to God? What is eternity? 
 Had he, when Satan sin conceived, 
 That instant chained, and ne'er relieved; 
 
 Had bound him in the darkest night, 
 
 Put him forever out of sight, 
 Or put him where we all could see 
 The monument of sin to be ; 
 
 What would the Grand Intelligence of heaven 
 
 Have thought if such award was given? 
 Would justice then have been displayed 
 As now it is, though long delayed? 
 
 Who then of love had known the power 
 
 As even we know at this hour? 
 Who ever would have known the curse 
 Its lack entails of misery? And worse, 
 
 Some might be tempted to have thought 
 
 'Twas punishment severe for naught. 
 But no God's plan is as the plan of God, 
 
 Eternal as eternity! 
 
 Immense as all immensity! 
 
 Minute even to minutia! 
 He works out all details ! 
 His purpose never fails! 
 
 So that all may read and know 
 
 The truth, and wise and wiser grow. 
 Shall I the thought unto you tell, 
 The hierarchy discussed in hell? 
 
 Not openly discussed; no, never! 
 
 But whispered one unto the other? 
 Shall I tell? What is the use? 
 Of words it would be abuse. 
 
 How do you think? Can you believe? 
 
 Will your cranium it receive?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 4! 
 
 Or holds that plastic piece of mud 
 What strikes it with sufficient thud? 
 
 "Tis so. Then try to understand 
 
 Since first in time I gazed on land ; 
 Since first I gazed on starry mist, 
 Or even since I left the blest; 
 
 Eons though it to you appear, 
 
 To me 'tis but one night of fear, 
 
 Rayless, gloomy, without cheer. 
 And to the time I lived before 
 It is as nothing. The time I did adore 
 
 Is as a thousand years unto a day, 
 
 Or some such figure, figuring your way. 
 So, then, our hierarchy are right, 
 Though figured out in darkest night, 
 Without a single ray of light. 
 
 The time that all outbreaking sin 
 
 Exists is not worth reckoning; 
 Scarce even as an instant counts 
 In absolute eternity. 
 
 God will not suffer sin to run 
 
 One second that's a useless one. 
 Each moment of these sinful ages, 
 Although required to fill the pages 
 
 Of sin's narrative of wrong, 
 
 Is still begrudged from heaven's throne. 
 Each pang that rends the human breast, 
 Each groan, each tremor of unrest, 
 
 And every throb of deep despair 
 
 Ascending from a demon's lair, 
 Required is every one to keep 
 Eternal ages pure and sweet. 
 
 None is superfluous ; there is no waste ; 
 
 All in the record books are placed,
 
 42 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Where they will do good for aye, 
 And keep the heavens bright as day. 
 
 And then, those essays and reviews; 
 
 One theme I think that they will choose, 
 When writing on this earth, will be 
 To show how clearly they can see 
 
 The ratio that must exist 
 
 Between the love we long have missed 
 And happiness; to show that as this love has waned, 
 Ignorance, vice and misery reigned; 
 
 To show that as this love has spread, 
 
 The world seemed waking from the dead. 
 Knowledge and pleasure have entwined, 
 And embrace the human mind. 
 
 Even the curse you did receive 
 
 In Eden, science hastens to relieve. 
 If 'tis of science you wish to know, 
 To headquarters you may go. 
 
 At the foundation you may start 
 
 And see the basis of each art. 
 The trouble with you men has been, 
 That science as 'tis always seen, 
 
 Is seen obliquely; or, if not, 
 
 You do not grasp it as you ought. 
 Then it will be quite different, 
 When every experiment 
 
 Is but a demonstration 
 
 Of the laws of all creation. 
 When not oblique, but straight you look, 
 As it is written in the book, 
 
 Not only trace all force and matter 
 
 Backward to the heavenly Father, 
 But from his creative hand 
 Trace every force as his command.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 43 
 
 Perhaps trace every molecule 
 
 As the equipment of the school, 
 Where he trained for higher things 
 Pupae, which consternation brings 
 On us. 
 
 'Tis a great thing for the sons of God, 
 
 Now traveling this dusty road, 
 That hall of records has been kept 
 By watchful ones, who never slept ; 
 
 Nothing so small, nothing so great, 
 
 But what those records must relate. 
 God on the present, future, past, 
 His searching eye can ever cast ; 
 
 But every soul he has create, 
 
 Whether it be small or great, 
 Is but a learner in his school; 
 There's no exception to this rule, 
 
 And there are none can grasp the whole ; 
 
 He never made so vast a soul. 
 Therefore exists this record hall 
 Where account is kept of all. 
 
 And ever though we grow and grow, 
 
 And ever more of God we know, 
 Still, vast creation rolls along, 
 Truth has a never-ending song. 
 
 And ever something to relate, 
 
 God, the Father, will create. 
 
 But who now am I talking to? 
 
 A mortal demigod like you ! 
 
 Your brain. What if the little speck 
 Should burst that swelling on your neck? 
 
 But who can grasp the mind of God? 
 
 What mind can stagger with the load?
 
 44 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 When Satan started to fulfill 
 
 Each shade and aspect caused by ill ; 
 To demonstrate in actual life 
 The hideous wrongs and awful strife 
 
 Which violated law evolved! 
 
 Dreamt he that He who all controlled 
 Allowed him thus and thus to do? 
 That he, all demons, yes, and you, 
 
 Should demonstrate and cause those write 
 
 -Who dwell in holy, beaming light, 
 
 Love's awful wrong? 
 
 Dreamt he, he but the background wrought, 
 To show the love 'gainst which he fought, 
 
 To prove to all eternity 
 
 God's love has such intensity? 
 
 His love fills all immensity 
 
 His very name is love. 
 Or, as has been so lately proved, 
 
 His love rules o'er his throne, 
 So that for sinners such as you 
 
 His blood can now atone. 
 No, I do not think he did, 
 From him the future close is hid. 
 
 Had his foresight been as good 
 
 As his hindsight, he had stood; 
 And never would the records tell 
 How he envied, how he fell. 
 
 There is but One the future knows; 
 
 He is the source from which truth flows; 
 Truth he on earth does demonstrate 
 As you on blackboard or on slate. 
 
 No cause so subtle but he knows 
 
 Just how far its influence goes; 
 No force so feeble or remote, 
 But credit gets for what it wrought.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 45 
 
 None are erratic, none are strange, 
 
 To him who every force maintains. 
 Even will power he understands 
 Some think it follows his commands 
 
 As all have influence on all, 
 
 But one can grasp the sum total. 
 When all this influence is summed up, 
 The product predicts the result 
 One way of being omniscient. 
 
 When we look at God aright, 
 
 We're dazzled in a blaze of light; 
 Can we tell where omniscience 
 Is blended with omnipotence? 
 
 Oh, what sensations in me rise! 
 
 How much I now myself surprise! 
 Once these thoughts caused adoration ; 
 Despairing hate is my sensation 
 Now. 
 
 But whether in heaven or in hell, 
 Each one his phase of truth must tell; 
 
 And no one knows till 'tis worked out, 
 
 The problem his life is about. 
 Yet is the record filed away 
 Where light more brilliant is than day; 
 
 And some time you the truth may know, 
 
 Unless you dwell with us in woe. 
 
 Yes, you may read it o'er and o'er, 
 Study, and ponder more and more; 
 
 And find how none e'er duplicate; 
 
 How all are ruled as if by fate, 
 
 Each its own truth to demonstrate. 
 
 The truth of love, the truth of hate, 
 
 The truth of forces small and great; 
 
 The truth of atoms, the truth of all, 
 Unseen as air or massed in ball.
 
 46 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But why should I the truth forestall, 
 And tell to you, who scarce can crawl 
 Around your rotund prison cell, 
 Things which we found out since we fell? 
 But if I tell you, mortal man, 
 And in eternity you scan 
 The record of some guilt and crime, 
 And think to visit our confine, 
 
 And find some way by which you can, 
 Give me your promise, as a man, 
 You will find me in the pit, 
 Where in darkness bound I sit; 
 And tell to me as I tell you 
 Of things shut out from present view. 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 Well, I never thought 
 When I first this pencil bought, 
 I had struck so long a job, 
 But I will try. So help me, God. 
 
 Death: 
 
 But perhaps you would rather wait 
 
 Till you are in another state 
 
 Say up in heaven, with all of time, 
 To sift the truths of sin and crime; 
 
 Or would you rather there sing psalms 
 
 And exercise by waving palms? 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 While I would be the last to scoff, 
 
 You know that time's a long way oft". 
 I will take your story now, 
 If it be with throbbing brow. 
 
 And when psalms I have to sing, 
 
 That will be another thing.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 47 
 
 The rough and tumble suits me well, 
 I'll figure to keep out of hell, 
 Or call it all a dream. 
 
 Death: 
 
 Well, then, when we had done the worst we knew, 
 And dreamt that we had spoiled a few, 
 
 Still vast creation rolled along; 
 
 Our hurt was scarcely worth a song. 
 Still we are working in the plan, 
 Although we do the worst we can. 
 
 We know the truth we demonstrate, 
 
 Though hard we try to call it Fate. 
 We know the part we do but fills 
 The book of record of the ills 
 
 That broken love entails on all, 
 
 Since we ceased loving and did fall, 
 Out of the sunshine and the light, 
 To outer darkness, darkest night. 
 
 These laws to fight ne'er will we quit 
 
 Till we are bound within the pit 
 
 That's bottomless, where God sees fit ; 
 There still keep raving, cursing heaven 
 And the life our God has given. 
 
 Oh, that hidden from his face 
 
 There was a spot in outer space. 
 But no! When hurled from his throne, 
 We into space keep falling on ; 
 
 Though our momentum should increase 
 
 Like falling rocks, and never cease, 
 We know that of each curse we breathe, 
 That every time with hate we seethe, 
 
 He will the record file away 
 
 Where saints and angels ever stay. 
 Though further, further we are swept, 
 And bound and fettered ever kept,
 
 48 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Still, of our anguish and our woes, 
 Still, of death's ever-dying throes, 
 He will the record keep up there 
 Where everything is bright and fair, 
 To demonstrate of truth one phase, 
 Whose record in unending lays 
 Is truth. 
 
 But now one phase of truth I tell, 
 Whose record might be kept in hell. 
 If in such a place you find 
 A place for storage of the mind. 
 I will tell how I got the scythe 
 For taking life from those who writhe. 
 
 You see, some globes commenced to cool 
 When I was acting like a fool ; 
 And forms of matter did compound, 
 Which when real hot could not be found. 
 And as more heat did radiate, 
 Some gases took the liquid state; 
 And as they still kept whirling round, 
 Some liquids turned into the ground ; 
 That is, the surface of the ball 
 Got so it would resist a fall, 
 And nothing to the center went 
 Unless with fearful force 'twas sent; 
 Although the tendency that way 
 Still keeps a-pulling all the day. 
 And as the mass got harder still, 
 Volcanoes played on every hill ; 
 
 As it would wrinkle and contract, 
 Sometimes the globe would badly crack, 
 And the liquid stuff inside 
 Poured o'er countries far and wide; 
 And the liquid stuff called water, 
 Loud did hiss and roar and spatter,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 49 
 
 And ever upward did arise 
 The hazy vapor filled the skies. 
 
 Or rather, from the skies to settle, 
 
 Fought this most persistent metal; 
 And with hiss and roar and spatter, 
 Ripped and tore the liquid matter. 
 
 To level hard it tried the hills, 
 
 Their contour softened by its rills. 
 This would be a rocky ball 
 Were it not for waterfall. 
 
 As the balls still kept contracting, 
 
 Gravity and rain kept acting 
 On the masses left on high, 
 Towering up into the sky; 
 
 And some masses forced up higher, 
 
 By restraint resisting fire. 
 Still old gravity kept pulling, 
 And the rain the rocks kept cooling 
 On them dashed and kept a- fooling; 
 
 Down they come with crash and thud 
 
 A grinding mass of sand and mud, 
 And the water courses choke 
 With debris of pounded rock, 
 
 And the lower levels fill 
 
 With sand and mud from every hill. 
 In this mud and in this water 
 Something happened unto matter 
 
 Something that our wisdom vexed, 
 
 And the wisest much perplexed. 
 For this something seemed possessed 
 With a something all confessed 
 
 Was altogether new with matter, 
 
 Either in the land or water. 
 Then we searched these balls of rock, 
 We to their very center broke; 
 4
 
 50 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 There was no place we did not search 
 
 Deepest den and highest perch; 
 Searched each solid, liquid, gas, 
 Each inert and rolling mass; 
 
 We searched the very highest ether, 
 
 Then compared our notes together, 
 To find if it was really true; 
 It bothered so our hellish crew, 
 
 Why life in matter then began. 
 
 What was the reason? What the plan? 
 But nearly on the surface all 
 The life is gathered of a ball; 
 
 There is none in the solid rock, 
 
 In ether, or electric shock. 
 Shall I tell to you as well, 
 Secret surmisings out of hell? 
 
 You see, when we were outward driven, 
 We were a third of all in heaven. 
 
 What He would do our place to fill, 
 
 Watched we close, and watch we still. 
 And when He abroad did scatter 
 All this shining stuff called matter, 
 
 We surmised some way or other, 
 
 We should find some kind of brother. 
 So when in the mud and water 
 We did find this living matter, 
 
 We said at once, a committee 
 
 Of biologists should be 
 
 Appointed, to examine and report. 
 I was a fellow of that sort; 
 
 I took the job, I did not wince 
 
 I have been at it ever since. 
 
 But how to tell of spirits' skill, 
 How your muddy head to fill
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 51 
 
 With ideas of our power, 
 Although you feel it every hour, 
 
 Perplexes me as much or more 
 
 As the life on that muddy shore. 
 But how we do on matter play, 
 It is done in such a way, 
 
 It is hard for us to tell; 
 
 You can do it just as well; 
 For you could not move your lips 
 Were you not in such a fix. 
 
 Still there is much of mystery 
 
 Even in nature's history. 
 Oft where angels' work we trace 
 We have brought it to disgrace. 
 Their plan of morals how deface. 
 
 But where moves the great I Am, 
 
 We are working in the plan, 
 
 Even when we do the worst we can. 
 So when life we tried to study, 
 If it was a little muddy, 
 
 Suspicion blossomed to dismay 
 
 When we realized the way 
 It could cause other matter dead 
 To be a living thing instead? 
 
 We wondered much where this would grow, 
 
 As soon as we found that it was so. 
 A thing that other things could make, 
 And give them life from death awake! 
 
 This is an old, old fact with you, 
 
 But 'twas astonishing when new. 
 When first upon our minds it dawned, 
 It made us think the master hand 
 
 Who made it, made it for our doom 
 
 A guilty conscience is a living tomb.
 
 52 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 We down the ages glanced afar, 
 And saw the future of some star. 
 
 A thing that had such Godlike power, 
 
 It others made to live ! Oh, 'twas an evil hour 
 For us ! for well we knew how all improve 
 Save He whose very name is love. 
 
 Improvement, evolution, growth, 
 
 Are old as spirit life, and life, and common to 
 them both. 
 
 Speaking of evolution: Knowing all the past, 
 
 Some of us, when we meet, like to forecast 
 
 How this and that will grow, change, or evolve, 
 And find some knotty problems we must solve. 
 
 So when in air we saw you mortals fly, 
 
 And took our usual toll for all must die 
 
 One of our comrades said he'd bet his whetstone that 
 The undertakers soon the air would plat. 
 
 Another said that doubtless in the air 
 
 Processions soon would fly but where? 
 
 "Yes," said the first, "surely, o'er the deep 
 And dark blue ocean will the cortege creep, 
 
 Slowly and silent then when the sea the proper depth 
 attains, 
 
 From the foremost carriage drop the loved remains." 
 "Ah," said another, "that will never do. 
 I'll prove your guesses can ne'er come true. 
 
 There is no evolution in your plan. 
 
 The sea would take the first and last of man." 
 
 "But," said the first, "the undertakers are but men, 
 And you will have to settle up with them. 
 
 When in a circle, slowly flying round, 
 
 All the attraction is at the center found. 
 
 All eyes are strained to see the casket flash, 
 And view with breathless interest the splash.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 53 
 
 Now of that splash the evolution watch, 
 And find the end from the beginning hatch. 
 
 At first it was an ordinary splash; 
 
 Evolving heights kept adding to the crash, 
 Until in course of time, to save going up so high, 
 A funeral director was so very sly, 
 
 He put a little high explosive where 
 
 'Twould send the splash rebounding through the air. 
 That was the start a little bit at first 
 But evolution made the casket burst; 
 
 And worse, the increased charges made the ocean 
 roar, 
 
 And dash with surging tumult on the shore. 
 Yet worse, 'twas very hard upon the fish, 
 Men scarce could get a decent dish; 
 
 But when there scarce was left a whale, 
 
 Government interfered that ends this tale 
 
 Of evolution on the smallest scale 
 Say of two thousand years." 
 
 "Well," said another, "if you will attend, 
 I'll show you evolution from the other end. 
 
 Look at this sacred city, where the son of heaven, 
 When all the gates were shut, is the only living 
 Male. Then trace by evolution, if you can, 
 How he the high position keeps from every other man. 
 At first it was a neighbor's daughter 
 Helped for an hour, or such a matter ; 
 Then a poor orphan, glad to find a home, 
 Worked for a trifle more than bread and bone; 
 Then evolution worked wages were blows; 
 At work the madam turned up her nose; 
 Still evolution worked, with help so cheap; 
 Palaces were reared, and mansions wide and deep. 
 More help was needed, and some kind of men, 
 If that's the proper name for such as them;
 
 54 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And so, in course of time, we see the son of heaven, 
 When all the gates are shut, the only living 
 
 Male in all the city. Not only so, but even at this 
 time 
 
 You can see all the grades, shaded so fine, 
 Not one is missing, all open to your sight, 
 From where that lonely lord, equipped with might and 
 right, 
 
 Compels his servant, slaves, or worse, 
 
 To where some girl simply helps as nurse. 
 On earth we now can get a Godlike view 
 And see things as He is supposed to do. 
 
 The present, past and future at one glance we see 
 
 All demonstrated, plain as it can be, 
 Of the help question evolution." 
 
 But there were no jokes in us, 
 When first we saw the living muss. 
 
 Strained was every mind to catch 
 
 What eternity would hatch; 
 And we were sure we saw the hand 
 Of our late partners in command. 
 
 'Twas then I learned to do my part, 
 
 With this old-fashioned scythe and dart. 
 Still we could not exterminate 
 It was of God, we call it fate. 
 
 O'er all the plans of men and mice 
 
 There is a plan that's working nice, 
 And this life was in the plan ; 
 We thought it was when it began. 
 
 And still, as they did propagate, 
 
 We pursued with bitter hate; 
 With cruelty and every ill, 
 With science and malignant skill; 
 
 Fierce we wielded scythe and dart, 
 
 Drove them home to every heart.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 55 
 
 We have played no sluggard's part, 
 Nor have we blunted this old dart. 
 
 Still this life has onward spread, 
 
 Made the living from the dead. 
 
 From shore to shore in oceans deep, 
 The living things both swim and creep; 
 
 On grassy plains and mountains steep 
 
 The living things both wake and sleep. 
 
 Though many a time a race was swept 
 From face of earth, still life has kept; 
 
 And keep its own, life ever shall 
 
 On the outside of this fiery ball, 
 As long as there is heat inside, 
 Unless something should betide, 
 
 That other globes not far away 
 
 Have not experienced in their day. 
 
 Though many a time, with fearful throes, 
 Old Mother Earth to help us chose; 
 
 Though animals we taught the art, 
 
 And trained them well to do our part; 
 There still are living things to-day, 
 And life still holds its glorious sway. 
 
 Ah! If you only life could see, 
 
 Where fear of death can never be; 
 Could you trace it from a cell, 
 Up to a house where God could dwell 
 
 A home where very spirits live, 
 
 And our old laws pure motive give; 
 Or if you even life could trace 
 On this old earth's wrinkled face 
 
 But your life is far too short. 
 
 Could you but hear all my report, 
 
 Of all that lived, you I would tell 
 Their name, their nature, how they fell.
 
 56 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 What's in a name? but I might show 
 Their nature by their name, I know ; 
 Then I would only prove to you 
 What I suppose you know is true 
 How we are working in the plan, 
 When we do the worst we can; 
 How every animal we kill, 
 A better tries his place to fill; 
 How every race we swept away, 
 Made room for higher grade than they. 
 If your head that way inclines, 
 I could take you to the mines ; 
 I could show you underground 
 Fossils that will ne'er be found; 
 I could show you missing links, 
 Conclusive proof to him who thinks; 
 They would prove how we are fooled; 
 How all our acts are overruled 
 By the Almighty God above 
 To further on the plan of love. 
 
 Still, if you are inclined that way 
 But you will find it no child's play 
 
 I would like with you to trace 
 
 The progression of the race 
 
 Of animals upon the face 
 Of this old earth; or would you take 
 Some other star, and trace its fate, 
 
 As we call this development? 
 
 But now you gave me such a hint, 
 Your sleepy face shows many a scar 
 Engraved by what is your own star. 
 
 But if you have the chance embraced, 
 
 You have got no time to waste; 
 And it would be a waste of time, 
 Both of yours, also of mine.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 57 
 
 For on this star the fate of all, 
 
 Of the large and of the small, 
 Has been sealed. When He has said 'Enough,' 
 Back to the misty, shining stuff; 
 
 Back to the star-mist He shall roll 
 
 The heavens like a burning scroll. 
 All will be made o'er again, 
 When there is no fear of sin. 
 
 For the tragedy on earth, 
 
 When it gave its God a birth, 
 When he suffered to redeem, 
 Is greater than to you it seem. 
 
 It is greater, vaster far 
 
 Than all the forms of matter are, 
 
 Valued not by every star. 
 These shall all be swept away 
 On the final judgment day. 
 
 Oh ! and where shall I be then, 
 
 And the ruined among men? 
 
 Feel I worse now than I shall then, 
 
 Bound and fettered in the den ? 
 Think you a heart once made to love, 
 Made to adore the God above, 
 
 Can be satisfied with hate, 
 
 Satisfied with cursing fate? 
 Relief by doing a sinful thing 
 Only aggravates the sting. 
 
 I would rather be in hell, 
 
 Bound and fettered in the well; 
 Falling ever down the pit, 
 And the bottom never hit, 
 
 Were it not for eternity! 
 
 Eternity! eternity! 
 Oh, the sting that never stops ! 
 Oh, the curse that never drops!
 
 58 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 If we could only end with time, 
 
 Then change would this despair of mine. 
 
 But time can not exhaust my hate; 
 
 No starry mist can fix a date. 
 
 But I would curse Him fiercer still, 
 And spurn an opiate ever will. 
 
 Curse Him for the love He bears, 
 
 Curse Him for the love He shares 
 With the loving round the throne, 
 As eternity rolls on. 
 
 My heart was made for endless love; 
 
 You have the breath of Him above. 
 There is no end to you or me, 
 No stopping place can ever be. 
 On! On! eternity, roll on! 
 , Roll on ! roll yes, as you and I 
 
 Roll with the earth around the sky, 
 So with eternity we roll, 
 And never dies a living soul. 
 
 Never dies the breath of God, 
 
 Can not die beneath the rod; 
 Can not die; 'tis the I Am 
 Who says "Thou art" to every man. 
 
 The end of all things may be so; 
 
 At least the end of all below. 
 
 God gravitation may withdraw, 
 And matter riot without law; 
 
 Gaseous stuff, when oppressed by heat, 
 
 Returns as first we knew it. 
 
 What use will have your changed body 
 For food or garments fine or shoddy? 
 
 What use for land or houses fair, 
 
 When, like your God, you pass through air? 
 When, like your God, you never sleep, 
 Whether you live to laugh or weep;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER- 59 
 
 When, like your God, your subtle I 
 Is all unveiled and can not die; 
 
 When all unveiled you face the storm 
 
 Eternal wrath, or feel life's morn. 
 Then all this stuff your eyes now see, 
 Or with your hand that felt can be; 
 
 This stuff I never yet did feel, 
 
 Though many a heart I've caused congeal ; 
 This matter will have played its part, 
 A process in high heaven's art 
 
 Of making spirits, or immortal souls, 
 
 Ever to live as ever rolls. 
 If all things tangible be swept away, 
 The time they last is not as one day 
 
 Unto eternity, and I think they will, 
 
 When they the purpose of our God fulfill. 
 
 But oh! eternity rolls on, rolls on. 
 It will not stop, nor listen to our moan ; 
 It will not stop, however deep we groan. 
 
 A fearful thing it is to live 
 
 With the breath of life he gave! 
 Man! it is a fearful thing, 
 This breath of life, with conscience sting. 
 
 A solemn thing it is to be 
 
 A spirit for eternity. 
 No attraction there to bind ; 
 Nothing but Love our hearts can find; 
 Or its inverse, the blasted kind, 
 Hate. 
 
 What know you of eternity, O man? 
 
 Not anything; it is not in the plan 
 That you should know. The lull of sleep 
 Which comes where soul and body keep; 
 
 Which ever comes where the combine 
 
 Of soul and body close entwine -
 
 6O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Which never comes to spirit lost 
 Can not be had at any cost. 
 
 'Tis only in the embryo state 
 
 You checker thus eternity. 
 When once your soul from flesh is free, 
 You are as ever you shall be. 
 
 If then remorse begins to gnaw, 
 
 'Tis forever; for the law 
 Of spirits says you can not take 
 Any kind of opiate. 
 
 Eternity is near, is far, 
 
 Is hell! if one's with God at war; 
 It never, never can let up; 
 We drain forever at the cup. 
 
 Is this the worm that never dies? 
 
 The fire unquenched, whoever tries, 
 No sleep finds in eternity. 
 
 Yes; I do remember well, 
 
 And the date to you could tell 
 
 When 'twas whispered in my ear 
 Made me tremble as with fear 
 
 That the Presence would appear, 
 
 That Almighty God was near; 
 
 Then upon the earth he stood, 
 And pronounced it very good. 
 
 Good, despite all we had done; 
 
 Good had so far the victory won. 
 Ah, you mortals little know 
 Piggish brutes, your nerves are so, 
 
 You can never realize 
 
 Feelings that in me did rise 
 
 When we heard that he had come 
 Within the circuit of the sun. 
 
 No; your make-up, it is such, 
 
 Crowed your feelings overmuch.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 6l 
 
 Down you go and do not feel; 
 
 Terror does your powers congeal ; 
 But it is not so with spirit; 
 However hurt, they still must bear it; 
 
 Howsoever bad they feel, 
 
 Never can their essence reel. 
 For we are not a compound, 
 No nerves to shock or brain confound. 
 
 We are like the light of day; 
 
 Used to be, perhaps you say; 
 You are right. How look I now ? 
 There's perspiration on your brow. 
 
 I know I am not much for looks, 
 
 Even in the land of spooks. 
 
 Now I suppose you want to know 
 
 What the Almighty did below. 
 
 Did he show his creative power? 
 How? I would tell, but at that hour 
 
 I was not there; and what to me is told, 
 
 In court of justice would not hold. 
 'Tis hearsay; very much I doubt 
 If those who told me were about. 
 
 In fact, when God was on the earth, 
 
 I did not travel for my health; 
 
 I did not wish to meet him there 
 Business affairs took me elsewhere. 
 
 I had some matters to attend, 
 
 Did not get back before the end. 
 
 When I got back, 'twas then I found 
 I had to study a compound: 
 A mass of life and matter that had found 
 A spirit ; or else a spirit that was bound 
 
 By life and matter in just such a way, 
 
 The one without the other would not stay.
 
 62 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Yet, I suppose that you would like to know, 
 Just how I think it was created so ; 
 
 I mean just how the work was done. 
 
 But all our crowd the place did shun. 
 You see, God has with him a crowd, 
 If talk we so, when we talk loud. 
 
 There always is with him a host 
 
 Of those who seem to love him most, 
 If of perfect love it be 
 Right to speak in a degree. 
 
 These, with the angels that were here, 
 
 Guiding and managing the sphere, 
 These all together did consult 
 Something like you was the result. 
 
 But whether of the ground they took, 
 
 As it is written in the Book 
 And as none of us was there, 
 The Book must all the witness bear 
 
 Out of the dust a thing did mold 
 
 From pattern angels had evolved. 
 
 And, do you know, before that time 
 I thought that they were doing fine, 
 
 If to a pattern of themselves, 
 
 Or some such model on their shelves, 
 They were slowly bringing round 
 The beings living on the ground. 
 
 But though I would not like to say, 
 
 Even in an unofficial way, 
 
 That the old Book has commenced 
 With biology condensed, 
 
 You are formed of the ground 
 
 Requiring ages to come round; 
 Or took it but a single day 
 I rather think the other way.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 63 
 
 God loves a systematic plan 
 Why not, when he creates a man? 
 And what is time to the / Am? 
 
 You can not time compare at all 
 
 With eternity it is too small; 
 Might try, but it your head would muddle, 
 Comparing earth with a soapy bubble. 
 
 It will not do. Eternity is vast; 
 
 Has all the future, and has all the past. 
 With God all time is but one day; 
 With you it does not look that way. 
 
 But yet, in some eternity it will 
 
 Hardly a niche of that size fill. 
 Even *as the earth you travel round 
 Seems quite a rolling stretch of ground, 
 
 Had you the sections all to fence, 
 
 Some of the plains would seem immense. 
 But when upon the moon you stand, 
 And watch the oceans and the land, 
 
 It now would seem as but a ball, 
 
 With hardly any plains at all. 
 But could you stand upon the sun, 
 This ball would seem a tiny one, 
 
 And look to you so very small, 
 
 You'd blush to call it home at all. 
 But could you stand upon a star 
 Which in the heavens shines afar, 
 
 You could not even see a speck, 
 
 Much less the homes you gayly deck. 
 And as with space, even so with time 
 Somewhat similar is their chime. 
 
 But how I do admire the fools, 
 
 Foolishness so easily rules. 
 They seem to be so frank and jolly, 
 Yet boasting in their love of folly;
 
 64 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Claim that not to know at all 
 Marks highest wisdom on this ball; 
 
 And that upon earth's wrinkled face, 
 
 Of God there is not any trace. 
 
 Says, if he sits on nature's throne, 
 He has failed to make it known. 
 
 And yet they do forever try 
 
 To give to the old Book the lie. 
 
 "Who can by searching find out God?" 
 Search every byway, every road. 
 
 You can not, it is written there; 
 
 You try, it will end in despair. 
 
 Who can by searching find out God? 
 How would you start where is the -road? 
 
 The time you live is far too short; 
 
 Your efforts all must prove abort. 
 But is there no way you can tell 
 But Reason's road? None suit so well. 
 
 Let us compare, then, if we can, 
 
 The fatherhood of God and man. 
 How old, then, must be the boy 
 Who never was his father's joy, 
 
 Ere said father he picks out 
 
 By Reason, from the crowd about? 
 If he has seen of years say ten, 
 Can he so thoroughly know men 
 
 To say, by Reason, that he knows 
 "That is my father, there he goes"? 
 
 How do you think that ten short years 
 With average age of men appears? 
 
 Well, so that we make the figures round, 
 
 Say ten per cent, is within bound. 
 
 Well, do you think your race has seen 
 One-tenth of all that time has been?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 65 
 
 No, not one-millionth part of time, 
 Say nothing of eternity. 
 
 But do you know, a child at ten 
 
 Knows very little about men? 
 And not at twenty could he tell, 
 If Reason all things else should quell ; 
 
 If he searched only Reason's road, 
 
 At thirty he'd give up the job. 
 For Reason can not all things tell, 
 However much men's heads may swell ; 
 
 Especially when cramped by time, 
 
 As is your life by scythe of mine. 
 And yet, how many men do doubt 
 Paternity oft figure out 
 Sometimes giggle, sometimes shout, 
 
 Cause they their father do not know 
 
 And feel so proud that it is so. 
 And yet, if threescore years and ten 
 Were not full years for common men ; 
 
 If they could live ten thousand years, 
 
 And were not vexed with hopes and fears; 
 But Science ever followed true, 
 It might be possible for you 
 
 To find out who your father was, 
 
 By reasoning from Nature's laws. 
 But if 'tis foolishness to try, 
 In time you live beneath the sky, 
 
 To tell who is your earthly sire; 
 
 How much more foolish to aspire 
 To find out Him who rules all things 
 Your Father, Maker, He who brings 
 
 Matter from empty void or space. 
 
 Commands come from his holy place; 
 Force, his will alone is cause; 
 His fiat, all of Nature's laws. 
 6
 
 66 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Yet some would trace matter and force 
 In threescore years unto their source; 
 That says a good deal for my boss ; 
 
 He takes some of earth's smartest men 
 
 To sparkle in his diadem. 
 
 But is there no way you can tell? 
 Are you so bound by Reason's spell? 
 
 That you no other way will own 
 
 You are your earthly father's son? 
 
 Is that so? 
 
 Then is there no way you can tell? 
 Are you so bound by Reason's spell? 
 
 Are Nature's laws the only plan 
 
 By which God speaks unto a man? 
 If Nature had sufficient force, 
 Why, then, should he have had recourse 
 
 To other plans, his end to gain? 
 
 Is Nature all of his domain? 
 
 If men were only a compound 
 
 Of life and matter from the ground, 
 
 Nature then might well suffice 
 
 To satisfy his beastly eyes. 
 
 But when once the great I Am 
 Breathed his spirit into man, 
 
 Then to speak with him, his God 
 
 Had other ways than Nature's road; 
 As a father to a child, 
 Though rebellious and so wild, 
 
 Can still appeal to that within 
 
 The heart, which makes them feel akin. 
 They have got one common cause 
 Stronger bonds than Nature's laws ; 
 
 They are bound by higher ties, 
 
 Bonds invisible to eyes.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 67 
 
 So with you to the I Am, 
 
 You feel a power describe who can; 
 A power which tells that you should be 
 At one with him you can not see. 
 
 You have got a common cause ; 
 
 Your Father has made all the laws 
 Which spirits rule; Nature the same; 
 They are all of his domain. 
 
 And when you do with him accord, 
 
 Fullest peace his laws afford. 
 Witness how those who rebel 
 What unrest their spirits tell. 
 
 Oft they meet as Christians do, 
 
 Even they hire preachers, too, 
 Just to tell God is not found, 
 And they have searched the world around. 
 
 Have they searched all other stars, 
 
 Or did they find ethereal bars? 
 Searched they with glass of highest power, 
 And scanned the heavens at midnight hour? 
 
 And because God they could not see, 
 
 Say that found he could not be? 
 Are not you mortals cranky, though? 
 What of Nature do you know? 
 
 Could you perforate this ball, 
 
 Through its very center crawl, 
 And on the other side be found, 
 Leaving a tunnel wide and round; 
 
 Then fit with glasses cast on high, 
 
 Adapted to the human eye; 
 And to be sure that they are right, 
 Finished by angels of the light; 
 
 To save annoyance by the weather. 
 
 Have one end out into the ether ;
 
 68 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Could you peer through such a glass, 
 And watch the heavens as they pass, 
 
 Think you that heaven you could see 
 
 The place in space I used to be? 
 Oh, you crazy mass of gall! 
 Speck upon a whirling ball! 
 
 Microbe on a whirling speck! 
 
 Bow the heavens at your beck? 
 Size you all things by that head, 
 Living matter, matter dead; 
 
 And when things you can not see, 
 
 Smile and say they can not be. 
 Suppose a glass you had in hand, 
 As seems the moon from where you stand, 
 
 It would not be so large at all 
 
 As many that are on this ball. 
 Now some way get into your face 
 The ratio great of space to space ; 
 
 And when you grasp the farthest star, 
 
 Think how space still looms out afar. 
 And when you think, and think your fill, 
 Know always there is further still. 
 
 When you o'er this have gasped and conned, 
 
 Remember always there is a beyond. 
 When you are far as mind can see, 
 Oh, what a circle that must be ! 
 You center of the radii. 
 
 And when you find such thinking dull, 
 
 The bounds are all within your skull. 
 Then think of what there is outside; 
 The space you grasped, so vast and wide, 
 Where God might be. 
 
 But how I do admire the fool, 
 
 Thinks he has been through Nature's school,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 69 
 
 And found for God another name 
 A force which nearly means the same; 
 
 Or simply says he does not know, 
 
 And feels so proud that it is so. 
 How can you know ? The time you live 
 Is but a day ; it does not give 
 
 You time to find out \vhere you are. 
 
 You think you live upon a star, 
 Or on a planet shining round 
 A star, you a piece of ground 
 
 Evolved or made in some such way 
 
 By the planet. Time, you say, 
 Will do it. Do what? Make matter think? 
 Well, now, let me give you the wink; 
 
 I'll let you see the other way; 
 
 You judge if 'tis the truth I say. 
 
 As soon as what was done we found, 
 
 Satan went a-nosing round, 
 
 Just to see what he could do, 
 As our surmises proved so true. 
 
 And hate within him deeper still 
 
 Buried and nerved his desperate will. 
 Yes, he has got lots of gall, 
 And nerve he does not know at all. 
 
 Into God's presence he would go 
 
 Some to their loss have found it so 
 Mingle with spirits of the light, 
 Himself as black as darkest night; 
 
 But the peer, when mind is rated, 
 
 Of any that was e'er created. 
 And he knows it, that alone 
 Makes him prince of Evil's throne; 
 
 And his proud heart will bow to none; 
 
 To be a creature hardly own.
 
 7O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He went nosing round to see 
 
 What new creature here could be; 
 What Almighty God had done 
 Within the circuit of the sun. 
 
 For he remembered creatures fair, 
 
 Long ago, beyond the air; 
 What he did to gain their will ; 
 How faithfully they serve him still. 
 
 And he thought to try again, 
 
 Perhaps some others he might win. 
 Witness how they serve him now, 
 Before his presence humbly bow; 
 
 How faithfully he holds their will, 
 
 Conclusive proof of Satan's skill; 
 How the heart is filled with hate, 
 When he, their ruler, sits in state; 
 
 How they scorn the offered love, 
 
 And curse the very God above. 
 How this last does Satan please 
 Would make of hell a throne of ease, 
 
 Were it not that every sin 
 
 Awakens something dwelling within. 
 A something, though so nearly dead, 
 Will not die; its weary head 
 
 Can not rest except in heaven ; 
 
 Feels sick, though all things else were given. 
 But this unrest he tries to soothe 
 By doing worse at every move. 
 
 And none of all the moves he made, 
 
 Nothing that he e'er essayed, 
 So gratifies his pride of head 
 As this piece of work he did. 
 
 Except perhaps what he had done 
 
 Ere gravitation systems swung;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. /I 
 
 The effect of which on me 
 
 Made the wretched fright you see. 
 
 And it was the self-same plan 
 
 Worked with angels as with man ; 
 Worked the same on himself, 
 Whose record now is on the shelf, 
 
 Where as truth we demonstrate 
 
 Laws inexorable as fate. 
 
 Ah! well do I now recollect, 
 And never, never shall forget, 
 
 Long ago, before that time 
 
 Soiled eternity with slime, 
 When 'twas whispered in my ear 
 That a crisis now was near, 
 
 And that a great deal did depend 
 
 In fact, that the whole thing might end 
 On the view that I should take, 
 On the move that I should make. 
 
 For a while he scarce w r ould tell, 
 
 And guess, I could not very well; 
 Wondered what could be the game, 
 Cautioned not to breathe the same. 
 
 Finally I found it out, 
 
 Whispered to me round about. 
 Asked if I would join in 
 When the rupture should begin; 
 Said that we were sure to win. 
 
 Satan long was figuring round, 
 
 And showed some facts did me astound ; 
 Said he firmly did believe 
 We had no word that meant "deceive" ; 
 
 And in whispers low did state 
 
 That the Creator was create 
 
 By some hoary laws called Fate.
 
 72 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Had suspected it for quite a time, 
 
 Now had figured it down fine. 
 
 And he claimed the great I Am 
 Did not wish to have him scan 
 
 Where heaven's archives do relate 
 
 This product of the laws of Fate. 
 But he claimed in looking round 
 He the final truth had found. 
 
 Well, I asked him, there and then, 
 
 Who made Fate's laws where and when 
 They evolved? What was before, 
 To plan the brightness we adore? 
 
 Asked if the place we call heaven 
 
 Was a far outlying realm 
 
 Of some kingdom far away 
 God deputed by their say? 
 
 Told him I would like to go 
 
 To headquarters, there to know 
 
 Truth from the fountain of the light, 
 For, at second hand, 'tis darkest night. 
 
 Asked him if I might not see ; 
 
 He promised he would show to me 
 The record in eternity 
 Of life's mysterious mystery. 
 
 In confidence I then was told, 
 
 If I to the first step was bold, 
 
 I might as a charter member be 
 One of the rulers of Eternity. 
 
 In fact, creation we mapped out; 
 
 We were all to take a turn about; 
 Depose Jehovah from his throne; 
 When he went off, we would go on. 
 
 And as the fates were paralyzed, 
 
 Satan had this plan devised.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 73 
 
 We were to be, strange as it seem, 
 
 Compared with all things else, the cream. 
 We were to be. That awful thought 
 Al) misery and ruin wrought; 
 
 Torn from the vine the branches lie, 
 
 Filled with sour sap, yet can not die 
 Satan was to be, of course, 
 Of power and all things else the source. 
 
 I was to be ah, that was love's knell! 
 
 When the big "I" commenced to swell; 
 When this ugly thing called self 
 First evolved the horrid elf. 
 How I wish that on a shelf 
 
 I could plant it underground, 
 
 So nevermore it might be found. 
 But it swelled and swelled, and burst 
 The law of love, of all laws first. 
 
 For never can this old law bind 
 
 Where self is highest in the mind. 
 At this time we were further from 
 The Almighty's central throne 
 
 Than you are now. 
 
 Heaven is immense, if space you speak of there. 
 As hell is now to me, it then was everywhere. 
 
 Thus things went on for quite a while, 
 
 And Satan many did beguile; 
 Until, emboldened by success, 
 He got us in a fearful mess, 
 
 Trying to tamper with the book, 
 
 Where every action, every look, 
 Of each and every one, is kept 
 By eyelids that have never slept. 
 
 This living creature he approached, 
 
 And covertly his plan he broached.
 
 74 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But when told it is absurd; 
 
 You can not alter here one word; 
 
 The truth in this place must be kept, 
 Though of all things else 'tis swept ; 
 
 There is no thought you e'er conceived, 
 
 Not an ethereal web been weaved; 
 You never studied out a plan 
 Some pure spirit for to damn ; 
 
 Twisted it round in various ways, 
 
 And looked at it in every phase, 
 
 But what each phase of what you thought 
 Is written, ne'er to be forgot. 
 
 When you in secret conclave met, 
 
 So secret that no date was set, 
 
 No record of it a page should spoil, 
 Lest it might your purpose foil, 
 
 That record here is written down, 
 
 Engrossed, engraved, unaltered by your frown. 
 The names of each and every one 
 Who to thy wiles may have succumbed 
 
 Are here ; you here the roll can call, 
 
 The roster find containing all. 
 
 Some say Satan held his breath, 
 As you would say upon the earth; 
 
 With others I my doubts evince 
 
 He was never known to wince ; 
 And as this is what he said, 
 I'm sure he did not lose his head. 
 "Well, you seem to know it all; 
 
 I must admire your wondrous gall. 
 
 Not only your own business know, 
 But probing into all things go. 
 
 Surely you must have found some things 
 
 That to your thinking power now brings
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 75 
 
 Amazement; and I rather fear, 
 As your own records now appear, 
 
 You have put truth upon the throne, 
 
 Where he was thought to rule alone. 
 
 But you are right, for changes come 
 There never was a changeless one ; 
 
 And such a change is coming now 
 
 Truth from that throne to me may bow. 
 It may, it must, the time has come, 
 And the old Powers their course have run. 
 
 So now you have a chance to grace 
 
 With the new Powers an honored place, 
 Much higher than the one you fill, 
 If you have heart and power of will. 
 
 Now it is for you to say 
 
 The fight is on, I must away." 
 
 "You must away no word has come 
 
 From either Father or the Son. 
 Yet no command to you has gone, 
 But what we always have it known. 
 
 'Tis all we know, the truth to write; 
 
 We've done it since we first saw light ; 
 And we propose to still keep on, 
 While we have aught to write upon. 
 
 And truth, truth only, we will write, 
 
 Till you turn brightness into night. 
 And when to this place you come 'round, 
 A faithful record will be found 
 
 Of the struggle, howe'er fierce, 
 
 When truth succumbs to perfidy. 
 But to this place before you come, 
 As master and the peerless one, 
 Think, Satan, think, what must be done. 
 
 Can you move the throne of God? 
 
 How would you stagger with the load?
 
 76 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Can a creature ever fight 
 
 The Creator in his might? 
 Has Jehovah then create 
 One who can make him abdicate?" 
 
 "Now, then," said Satan, "listen, hear 
 From your own records 'twill appear. 
 
 From the truth that you have kept, 
 
 I'll prove that God let something slip; 
 That there was one God did create, 
 Who broke the laws that God did make 
 
 Is this God's plan? Did he it all design? 
 
 Or is it weakness? Then the fight is mine. 
 If he has planned it, am I then to blame? 
 And for his scheming must I suffer shame? 
 
 Now do not for a moment think 
 
 I rashly took this step; then well might I shrink, 
 And fear the future. Long, long ere ever I essayed 
 To breathe my purpose unto others, I arrayed 
 
 Each fact I knew before my mental gaze; 
 
 Studied each point, tried all in various ways, 
 And thought, and thought, and thought; 
 As long, at least, as half eternity I thought. 
 
 Did God this know? If so, to stop me did he try? 
 
 If not 'tis simple courtesy to tell me why. 
 When first I dreamed of this (I scarce dare call it 
 
 thought), 
 I turned away, it such strange feelings brought; 
 
 And not for ages did I ever dare 
 
 That same sensation feel that I felt there. 
 Did God this know? Was not that time to talk? 
 
 But as the eons upon eons roll, 
 
 I did attempt again to grasp the whole, 
 And in course of my research I found 
 Facts that would even you astound.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 77 
 
 With all the knowledge handed down the ages, 
 I know some things not written on your pages. 
 
 Some things perhaps beyond your grasp, 
 
 Dealing with matters of the hoary past. 
 
 Things that were penned before you ever wrote a line, 
 Telling how God became your God and mine. 
 
 And now Jehovah has unto his limit come 
 
 Satan has grasped the chance and victory has won." 
 
 "Satan ! I know it all," the creature said, 
 
 "I know just when and where the break was made. 
 And how you felt it all is written down, 
 Where pen ne'er writes, and where no words slip tongue. 
 
 Unto the veriest fraction of eternity I knew; 
 
 How long the seed lay dormant until it grew. 
 You only prove to me," again the creature said, 
 
 "That I a creature am, and God did not me create 
 
 With all wisdom; but that I must wait 
 And see his plans evolve, see mystery unfold; 
 His wisdom yet hath depths that are untold; 
 
 'Tis boundless as his love. I can not grasp it all. 
 Neither, think I, can you." 
 
 "You think I can not you will see me try; 
 
 And if I do not find the reason why. 
 
 But when I do unto this place come back, 
 You still can keep the records; remind me of the 
 fact." 
 
 So Satan said, and then away he went 
 
 To force conclusions till his power was spent. 
 
 Then we massed ourselves together; 
 
 What a bond we had to sever; 
 And what a horrid, fearful tie 
 Bound each one else to each big L
 
 78 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And when the heavenly hosts did gather 
 Around the omnipresent Father, 
 
 I might tell you how we fought, 
 
 But it is beyond your thought; 
 You have nothing to compare 
 With the mode of our warfare. 
 
 But if ever you get there, 
 
 Where everything is bright and fair, 
 I would advise you search it out 
 'Tis something well worth reading about. 
 
 Yes, they did us badly whip, 
 
 And sent us reeling to the pit. 
 
 Oh, that they had left us there, 
 Writhing in torture and despair! 
 
 But who can tell the wondrous plan? 
 
 Who can judge of the I Am? 
 
 Who can tell when truth is done, 
 When once the record is begun? 
 
 Who can tell when discord's notes 
 
 Chime with heaven's brightest hopes? 
 No; the race of sin and crime 
 Had not run the appointed time, 
 
 Had not reached the degradation 
 
 Dark rebellion's scintillation; 
 
 Formed no background for the love 
 Of the Almighty God above, 
 
 Which we had ruptured and despised, 
 
 Which yet will more and more be prized. 
 
 We thought we were this law's disgrace 
 Must prove it has the highest place. 
 
 When we try to grasp the truth, 
 
 And trace God's hand back to our youth, 
 How imperious in his acts 
 God is we trace through all the facts.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 79 
 
 What we thought we had o'erthrown, 
 We must to every age make known 
 
 Is true, and truth is very strong; 
 
 There is no weakness but the wrong. 
 And as we ever toil and toil, 
 He our efforts e'er will foil, 
 
 So that we work within the plan; 
 
 We, knowing, curse as curse we can, 
 And plot and toil without cessation 
 The laughing-stock of vast creation. 
 
 But surely Satan must have felt, 
 
 When to this last job he knelt, 
 This job seems almost a disgrace 
 To one who fills the highest place; 
 
 Who, when mind alone is rated, 
 
 Equals any e'er created. 
 It certainly was fearful low, 
 And he must have felt it so, 
 
 From the job he did on me 
 
 Almost his equal who should be. 
 But this creature of a day 
 One-half spirit, one-half clay 
 
 It must have made him feel so small 
 
 To do this kind of work at all. 
 He brags about it all the same, 
 As if you were of heaven's game. 
 
 The way 'twas done, as you expect, 
 
 I'll tell, if I can recollect. 
 Or, rather, I will tell to you, 
 And judge with me if it is true. 
 
 For many a way heard I it told, 
 
 And truth is scarce where lies are bold. 
 He as an angel of the light, 
 As near as one could tell by sight,
 
 8o DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Was walking in the field without, 
 When Eve one day was looking out. 
 
 Within himself there came this thought : 
 "Here is the chance I long have sought," 
 And as the lady he addressed, 
 Rapture his countenance expressed; 
 "Fairest creature, I have come; 
 
 I, the angel of the sun, 
 
 Had it whispered in my ear 
 There was something pretty here; 
 
 And it unto me was told, 
 
 The Creator, who of old 
 
 Made us all, and made us well, 
 Who can all his wonders tell ! 
 Had been trying to excel 
 
 In a masterpiece of art 
 
 Beauty wrought in every part. 
 Yes, the sunbeams said to me 
 Here was something I should see; 
 
 Something that was fairer far 
 
 Than anything on any star. 
 
 And I dreamt of beauty fair 
 Musing in the sunbeams there, 
 
 But never in my brightest dream 
 
 Dreamt I loveliness could beam, 
 
 Thought I beauty could be seen, 
 As mine eyes do now behold 
 The half to me was never told. 
 
 Surely, you must be the one, 
 
 Fairest ideal ! 'neath the sun, 
 
 Surely the last evolved are you, 
 To loveliness and beauty true." 
 
 "Yes, you are right," the lady said, 
 "I am the last that he has made;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 8l 
 
 I am the last work of his hands 
 His last design before you stands. 
 
 But would you please to come with me, 
 
 And the noble Adam see. 
 I his helpmate only am, 
 He is God's ideal man, 
 Built from the great Creator's plan. 
 
 He will be pleased with you to talk, 
 
 And round about the garden walk, 
 
 And show you all of God's works here, 
 Which everywhere our hearts do cheer; 
 
 Then you may have with us some fruit, 
 
 When we gather at the foot 
 
 Of a tree that shades us well, 
 In a pleasant, leafy dell." 
 
 "Excuse me, lady," Satan said, 
 "Your kindness ne'er can be repaid; 
 
 But I, the angel of the light, 
 
 Must reach the sun before 'tis night; 
 You see I have such work to do, 
 I could not well explain to you. 
 
 Not only do I rule the sun 
 
 To me that would be only fun 
 But the stars control I all; 
 That leaves me little time to call. 
 
 Yet some time I will try repay 
 
 The kindness you have shown to-day. 
 On a sunbeam we may go, 
 And lots of things you then will know, 
 
 That now you can not know at all, 
 
 Confined within this garden wall. 
 I wish I could on Adam call; 
 Time flies, and soon the night will fall ; 
 
 But having seen the best the last, 
 
 Mine eyes thy lovely form hold fast; 
 

 
 82 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 The tresses that do thee adorn 
 
 Are like the rosy tints of morn 
 
 Should I see some one not so fair, 
 Might spoil the image written there. 
 
 Last efforts always are the best; 
 
 God's works improve like all the rest. 
 What did you tell me, if you please, 
 You eat the fruit from off the trees? 
 
 Is all the fruit, then, good to eat? 
 
 Does any ever prove a cheat? 
 
 I wish that I had time to stay 
 
 And learn how well you spend the day." 
 
 "Well," said the mother of your race, 
 "If you can not see his face, 
 
 If the sun you have to meet 
 
 I think the sunbeams are so sweet 
 
 I'll see what Adam has to say, 
 
 And we may go with you some day. 
 
 Please call again when you have time, 
 We will show to you each tree and vine. 
 
 Of all the fruit we freely eat, 
 
 It is so juicy, nice and sweet; 
 
 But of one tree that towers on high, 
 We must not eat or we will die." 
 
 "Indeed," said Satan, "is that so? 
 
 I am really sorry I must go. 
 
 But it seems to be so strange, 
 
 It almost seems our God must change; 
 
 That same thing he has done of late 
 
 With everything he has create 
 Always something not to do, 
 For if you do, I'll punish you 
 
 Something thus he hedges round 
 
 With terrors fearful, vague, profound;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 83 
 
 To see how long 'twill serve to keep 
 
 From something luscious, nice and sweet; 
 And pleasures one can never know 
 Until they try and find it so. 
 
 This he has done so many times 
 
 Among the stars in other climes. 
 Why does he thus? We may surmise; 
 And there must be some reason. The All-Wise 
 
 Would never into perfect bliss 
 
 Even hint of misery. 
 
 Some strange things God has done of late, 
 And this is one. I must investigate; 
 
 And promise you, ere I come back, 
 
 To look it up. And note the fact, 
 That the great God, who can not lie, 
 Has talked of death to those who never die. 
 
 What can be his reason 
 
 To talk of things so out of season? 
 But do you think a thing so fair, 
 That sheds a halo in the air, 
 
 The best and last work of his hand, 
 
 Beauty evolved at his command ; 
 Think you this pretty thing to mar, 
 He would a power put on this star, 
 
 With myriad stars before his face, 
 
 To find for it a resting place? 
 But now there comes to me a thought, 
 And proof conclusive it has brought 
 
 Do you know you can not die? 
 
 Tell you I will the reason why. 
 You have the breath of the I Am, 
 His breath of life he breathed in man. 
 
 No, you can never cease exist; 
 
 Firm as the earth this truth is fixed.
 
 84 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 It must be just as I surmised, 
 Something is hid he highly prized; 
 
 And something that will you surprise, 
 When you some day shall ope your eyes. 
 But I must go, I've stayed too long, 
 Your pretty face to look upon. 
 
 Adieu, thou sweetest thing in space, 
 Thou fairest of the fairy race; 
 Adieu!" One longing look he cast, 
 Then from her range of vision passed. 
 
 The lady stood and gazed a while, 
 Where she had seen the angel smile; 
 
 Then turning, to herself did say: 
 "I must see Adam right away. 
 
 Something now I have to tell, 
 
 That, I think, should please him well; 
 
 A good time we will have some day 
 
 I hope it is not far away. 
 
 We will on a sunbeam go, 
 
 And every wonder he will show. 
 
 Yes, what we know is very small, 
 
 Confined within this garden wall. 
 But how it Adam will surprise, 
 Make him open wide his eyes. 
 
 The angels talking unto me; 
 
 'Twas he they always came to see. 
 Now I will tell him all I know ; 
 Next time with me he'll surely go. 
 
 But what was it about that tree 
 
 The angel said? What can it be? 
 Perhaps I will pass by that way; 
 Well, I had better not to-day; 
 
 I think I will see Adam first, 
 
 He never seemed to care to trust
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 85 
 
 Me round about that way at all. 
 
 Does he imagine I will fall? 
 Why, where it is I hardly know, 
 If I chose I could not go; 
 
 Locate the tree I now will try; 
 
 A long way off I will pass by. 
 Well, there it is, just where I thought; 
 Why in the garden was it brought? 
 
 Why not on some other star 
 
 Where no fairy figures are? 
 But how it trembles, shakes all o'er, 
 From the leaflets to the core. 
 
 There is no wind. What can it be? 
 
 I must go nearer just to see. 
 Oh, see that snake! and it will die." 
 "Come down ; for if the fruit you try, 
 
 The voice of Him who gave you breath 
 
 Hath said that it will be your death." 
 
 The serpent paused, his mouth was full; 
 
 He craunched his jaws and took it cool. 
 Then filled again his mouth with fruit, 
 Pleasure expressed by move and look. 
 
 The lady stood as though entranced; 
 
 His shining eyeballs fairly danced. 
 Again, again his mouth he fills, 
 And every nerve with rapture thrills. 
 
 But" see, he moves his jaws again, 
 
 The lady thought he was in pain ; 
 
 And from his bivalve mouth there came 
 Mumbled words in muttering strain. 
 
 The lady's eyes were on the watch, 
 
 Her ears the following words did catch: 
 
 "I climbed this tree, a very brute, 
 To fill my belly with the fruit.
 
 86 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 What strange sensations through me thrilled 
 
 When first my mouth with fruit I filled. 
 I was a brute, and never dreamt, 
 Before this time, what knowledge meant. 
 
 I was a brute, and as brute content; 
 
 Never my fate could I lament, 
 
 This fruit, O joy! this fruit! my mouth 
 Of words shall never know the drouth. 
 
 And more than that: I've found a mind 
 
 That must be of the angel kind. 
 
 I was a brute, and did not know 
 A brute's a brute for being so. 
 
 But it will not do for me 
 
 To stay too long upon this tree; 
 I must get some other snake 
 His mouth to open and partake." 
 
 Then at the lady he did glance, 
 
 And said he would pull down a branch, 
 If the fruit she wished to try, 
 As it was hanging rather high. 
 
 "Oh, no! thank you," said your mother, 
 "Please excuse me; I would rather 
 
 Tell Adam all that I have seen 
 He ought to know where I have been; 
 For we heard it from the Lord 
 I heard him speak it word by word 
 Of all the fruit to freely eat, 
 They are all to us for meat ; 
 But of this tree, that towers on high, 
 'Touch not, eat not, lest ye die.' ' : 
 
 "Can that be so?" the serpent paid; 
 
 "Surely you do not call me dead ! 
 But I was dead an hour ago; 
 Now joyous life does through me flow.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 87 
 
 'Ye shall not eat or ye shall die/ 
 
 Gave he any reason why? 
 It must be that he speaks of death 
 Not as a losing of the breath, 
 
 But leaving the old self behind 
 
 An evolution of the mind. 
 That must be so, 'twas so with me; 
 A very brute, I climbed this tree. 
 
 But now the brute in me is dead. 
 
 I live, but with another head. 
 O God! what joy this fruit has given, 
 Like rising from the earth to heaven. 
 
 O lady! I tell you now the truth, 
 
 Though my thoughts are in their youth; 
 The reason he has told you so 
 Is that, he very well doth know, 
 
 That in the day you eat this fruit, 
 
 Of Reason you shall know the root; 
 That even as the gods on high, 
 Good and evil you may try; 
 
 Your eyes will open, you will see 
 
 Why and wherefore things should be. 
 No longer then will he command, 
 But try to make you understand. 
 
 No longer say, 'Do this or die,' 
 
 But give to you the reason why. 
 Of course, you do just as you please; 
 Rise now, or take inglorious ease. 
 
 This morn at your command I was; 
 
 A brute, that could not say 'because/ 
 But now on higher ground I stand 
 The peer of any in the land; 
 
 And higher still I shall ascend, 
 
 With all the beasts that shall attend
 
 88 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To me, and eat, and ever know 
 The joys that from all wisdom flow. 
 
 And you shall be where now they are, 
 The lowest forms upon the star; 
 For when all the beasts attend 
 And eat their fill, this tree will end. 
 
 For some you know must servants be; 
 Choose now your fate, be bond or free. 
 If Adam had come with you here, 
 You could never be his peer ; 
 
 For he would eat, and then would you, 
 And thus remain his helpmate true. 
 But should the first place you attain, 
 Can he catch up with you again? 
 So now you do as you incline 
 Rise or fall, the choice is thine." 
 
 The serpent's tail he coiled around 
 The tree stem nearly at the ground; 
 
 His head he twisted round a branch, 
 The fruit he brought within the launch 
 Of Eve's fair arm, who smiling stood, 
 And said: "This fruit looks very good, 
 And sure it must be good to eat; 
 It looks so luscious, nice and sweet. 
 Of juice it does not show a drouth, 
 But brings the water in my mouth. 
 
 Now do not think, you shining snake, 
 When I of this fruit partake, 
 I did not know before you told ; 
 What angels said now makes me bold. 
 I know it must be as you say 
 I've heard so much of that to-day." 
 
 She took the fruit into her hand, 
 She ate of it, pronounced it grand;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 89 
 
 To fill her hands again she tries ; 
 
 Instead, stepped back in dire surprise. 
 "What have I done, you slimy thing? 
 What did I do, this curse to bring? 
 
 Now I know that I shall die, 
 
 Do whatever I may try. 
 
 Where, oh, where now shall I fly? 
 Shall I leave this garden fair, 
 And lie upon the plains out there? 
 
 There is a fearful change in me 
 
 Can this be death? Oh, can it be! 
 What shall I do? Where shall I go? 
 I feel it now the dreadful woe." 
 
 The serpent said: "What you have done, 
 
 A victory to me hath won. 
 You now are doomed; you now must die, 
 It matters not where you may fly. 
 
 But good and evil now you know 
 
 Was it not I who told you so? 
 Perhaps you wish to die alone ; 
 Not I, though prince of Evil's throne. 
 
 Rather would I die with all the rest, 
 
 And let Him do what He thinks best. 
 If you and me He makes to fall, 
 Can it be our fault at all? 
 
 Still, He might punish one alone; 
 
 But if all beneath the throne 
 Should break His laws, what will He do? 
 What will be when all the crew 
 
 Are bad? He may some arrangement make, 
 
 And not the life of all things take. 
 If some be good and some be bad, 
 Some may rejoice and some be sad. 
 
 He an example of the lost 
 
 May make the good at fearful cost.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But if there is no one to warn, 
 None from the suffering culprit learn; 
 If all are down, and down the same, 
 Then He may modify the game, 
 And either punish lighter far, 
 Or quite disgusted leave the star. 
 Now you get Adam to join in 
 And be a partner of your sin. 
 How can you stand alone when God 
 Comes round to punish with the rod? 
 Better have Adam talk for you 
 What does for one will do for two." 
 
 You nasty, slimy, horrid thing! 
 Deceiving wretch! this curse to bring 
 
 On me," said Eve, "and will I take 
 
 Advice from you, accursed snake? 
 Think you I love Deception's voice? 
 In sin and wrong do I rejoice? 
 
 Where shall I go? what shall I do? 
 
 My heart is breaking now in two! 
 I will tell Adam what is done, 
 If never more I see the sun; 
 
 And then this garden I must leave; 
 
 You heartless wretch, me to deceive. 
 Must I now go away and die, 
 Your cruel heart to satisfy?" 
 
 "Well, now," said Satan, "should you go 
 And tell to Adam all this woe, 
 
 He will hardly you believe, 
 
 Will think you some way must deceive. 
 But if you take some fruit along, 
 Soon as he sets his eyes upon 
 
 The cursed stuff, then he will know 
 
 'Tis truth you tell, though hard the blow.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 91 
 
 That is the better way to do, 
 
 Take some fruit along with you. 
 Rise above all slavish fear; 
 As you are, always appear. 
 
 Take the bad and good together; 
 
 Never more can you them sever. 
 See what Adam says and does ; 
 Suppose he makes an awful fuss, 
 
 You more than his equal are, 
 
 The wisest creature on the star." 
 
 Then Eve said she would take some fruit, 
 But no advice from any brute. 
 
 Her hands she filled from off the tree, 
 
 Then Adam she went off to see. 
 She found him resting all alone; 
 A monarch seated on his throne. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she said, "what have I done?" 
 
 And down her cheeks the tears did run. 
 Adam started up in fright. 
 'My dear," he said, "you are all right." 
 "No, no," she said, "I am all wrong; 
 
 My joy, my hope, my life is gone." 
 Her arms then went swinging round, 
 And she fell fainting to the ground. 
 
 How quickly Adam's heart did leap 
 
 As lovely Eve fell at his feet, 
 His first experience of that kind 
 Worked like a charm upon his mind. 
 
 "What is the matter, tripped on a root?" 
 
 And then he saw that deadly fruit. 
 'Dead ! dead !" he said, "dead ! dead ! and gone, 
 The prettiest thing I e'er looked on. 
 
 Oh, sweetness, speak to me again; 
 
 Tell how it happened, where and when.
 
 92 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 I should have been with you, I know; 
 
 I am to blame for all this woe. 
 
 Just whisper to me if you can 
 Why did I treat you as a man? 
 
 You in charge to me were given, 
 
 Lost you have I to earth and heaven." 
 
 The woman's bosom gently heaved, 
 The fragrant air again she breathed; 
 Then sighing deeply, looked around, 
 With effort feeble speech was found. 
 "O Adam! I have done you wrong 
 In the short time that I was gone; 
 Deceived by snakes and angels, I 
 The fruit have eaten and must die. 
 I did not mean to, but, you see, 
 They told such stories unto me." 
 
 "Well, well," said Adam, "that is bad, 
 
 I really wish you never had; 
 
 But then perhaps you won't die now." 
 And kissed the sweat drops from her brow. 
 "Oh!" said the woman, "had I known, 
 
 Quick from his presence I had gone; 
 But I was nowhere at the time, 
 Never dreaming of a crime, 
 
 Only looking out the gate 
 
 At what the Father had create, 
 When this angel came along, 
 And commenced his cursed song. 
 
 He praised God's works as seen in me, 
 
 And you I wanted him to see. 
 
 But no he said he would come again, 
 And with a sunbeam for a train 
 
 We would then for pleasure go 
 
 And see all sights above, below.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 93 
 
 Then he lied about the Lord 
 And threw discredit on his word; 
 
 Told me that the fruit forbidden 
 
 Was some great good that thus was hidden. 
 Said God had done such things of late 
 In other stars in distant state. 
 
 Then I thought to come to you, 
 
 Lay what he said before your view. 
 But just as I was coming here, 
 The tree forbidden I passed near; 
 
 And saw it shake as it might fall, 
 
 Although there was no wind at all. 
 
 And there a cursed snake I found, 
 And with his jaws the fruit he ground. 
 
 I thought that surely he would die; 
 
 Instead, commence to talk did try; 
 
 And claimed the fruit had changed him from 
 The brute into a higher zone. 
 
 And he could talk; and so I thought, 
 
 If such a change in him it wrought, 
 That what the angel said to me 
 Was surely true as true could be, 
 
 And so the cursed fruit I took 
 
 And ate it; now see how I look! 
 
 What do you think the cursed snake 
 Then wanted me to undertake? 
 
 Adam, he wanted me to try 
 
 To get you eat the fruit and die. 
 But no; I tell to you the truth, 
 And take a warning from my youth: 
 
 When I this garden leave for good, 
 
 Forever quit the neighborhood; 
 When in the wilderness I go, 
 And when on me this curse must flow,
 
 94 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 When into the darkest night 
 
 I pass forever from your sight; 
 
 Oh, Adam, did I ever you deceive? 
 
 Or did I ever make believe? 
 No; I will go and die alone, 
 With many a pang and many a groan." 
 
 "Hush, hush," said Adam, "pretty dear, 
 You make me feel so very queer; 
 
 Something swells within my breast, 
 
 Might burst if go you still persist. 
 
 Something is choking up my throat. 
 Where is the fruit this trouble brought? 
 
 Let us go and see this tree, 
 
 Perhaps mistaken you may be." 
 
 Eve said: "No; there is no mistake. 
 
 Do you suppose that subtle snake 
 Spoiled such a chance? Besides I know. 
 But, then, what difference; let us go." 
 
 And so unto the tree they went, 
 
 And Adam, when he looked intent, 
 Said: "Indeed, it must be so, 
 You have brought upon us mortal woe." 
 
 "Now," said the woman, "Adam, dear, 
 
 I do not wish it to appear 
 That I have ruined you at all; 
 Is there occasion you to fall? 
 
 You just take warning from my doom; 
 
 Another wife you will get soon. 
 I must leave this garden now. 
 How can I leave you ! Tell me how ? 
 
 Where shall I go? What shall I find? 
 
 Can death alone relieve my mind?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 95 
 
 Oh, how terrible my fate! 
 
 But not more dreadful than to wait 
 
 And gaze upon the bleak unknown, 
 
 Feeling you are in the wrong. 
 Oh, come what will ; yet, let it come ! 
 I sinned, and can not from it run, 
 Nor the consequences shun. 
 
 Yes, I must go because of sin; 
 
 But how to go, how to start in ! 
 
 Did you once speak of Nephthalim? 
 Did not I hear you one day talk, 
 When with a bright one you did walk, 
 
 Something about some soulless men? 
 
 Oh, Adam, should I meet with them! 
 Or have I dreamed of such a thing, 
 When Reason slept was't Fancy's wing? 
 
 Or that vile snake with fetid breath 
 
 That whispered things far worse than death? 
 Oh! this is too much for one. 
 Adam, see the snake you shun. 
 
 And as I leave this garden now, 
 
 You will forget the when and how, 
 And all about what I have done, 
 When you another bride have won; 
 
 When from the hand of God you take 
 
 One, whom I wish a better fate; 
 And as his works may still improve, 
 Love's embrace your heart may move, 
 
 On prettier form than yet the sun 
 
 Has seen in all the race he's run. 
 And should you think of me at all, 
 I do not wish to seem so small 
 
 That I should tempt you now to die. 
 
 No, Adam! I will never try.
 
 96 DEATH AND THE REPORTER- 
 
 I love you still with all my heart; 
 
 I only seem of you a part; 
 
 I wish you only joy and peace 
 
 When my breathing powers shall cease." 
 
 "Well, stop your crying," Adam said; 
 " 'Tis plain enough you are not dead. 
 
 Your heart still beats at one with mine, 
 Your arms may still round me entwine; 
 As far as improvement is concerned, 
 What better thing have you yet learned?" 
 
 Eve sobbed, half choked, as new fears rose, 
 "Please do not ask me, dear; no one knows 
 Something with wings I should suppose." 
 
 "Something with wings!" Then Adam gasped, 
 And quickly from his lips there passed: 
 
 "Not if I know it. 
 If I'm responsible for two, 
 And lost my heart, my sweetness, you, 
 
 Because you wandered out of sight, 
 
 And stumbled into darkest night; 
 
 How could I, fastened to the ground, 
 Watch some one flying all around? 
 
 What kind of bug or butterfly? 
 
 What bird a-soaring in the sky? 
 You mean an angel, I suppose. 
 A host of angels, pretty rose, 
 
 Would not suit me quite so well, 
 
 Or make my heart within me swell." 
 
 "But, Adam, think how sweet 'twill be, 
 When a little bird perched in a tree,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 97 
 
 Singing so sweetly at close of day, 
 As its carols you praise, to hear it say: 
 'Here am I, love,' and then to espy 
 A vision of lovelier form than I." 
 
 "Ah," said Adam, "what did you say? 
 What would happen at close of day?" 
 
 "And then, dear, to think when you see a rose 
 
 With fragrance sweet, and of color that grows 
 Intense as you look ; should it blossom out 
 Into an angel your other half, no doubt 
 
 Would not that be sweet? Would not that be nice? 
 
 And such would happen not once or tw r ice, 
 But a thousand times in a thousand ways, 
 Till you spent in ecstasy the days. 
 
 And then just think what she would find out, 
 
 And tell to you, without a doubt, 
 When with other angels flying around, 
 She would hear of things that would you astound. 
 
 There are lots of things you ought to know, 
 
 And may be places you should go, 
 That she could go, if she had wings, 
 And feathers, and tails, and other things. 
 
 Besides, my dear, you must understand, 
 
 You have looked at the beasts from every land; 
 You have seen each one and named them all, 
 And not one has suited you at all. 
 
 And then here am I, and what happened me 
 
 You know, and I know, with that snake up the tree ; 
 But there still are the angels so bright and so pure ; 
 All that is left now you will love them sure." 
 
 Said Adam: "What foolishness! speak .common 
 
 sense. 
 
 There are angels, I know, with beauty intense. 
 7
 
 98 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Can I grasp the wind? Can I clasp the air? 
 When I would embrace, she would not be there. 
 
 And what if she was, and I could not tell ; 
 
 And what if she was from the region of hell, 
 Like the one that you saw ? pretty, no doubt ; 
 These things are forever changing about. 
 
 And how could I tell if 'twas my own or not, 
 
 When they can appear and dissolve on the spot? 
 What good would it do? Do I want a shade? 
 I want the real thing, and no shadow instead. 
 
 I will take no chances. I know what you are; 
 
 You are pretty and sweet, my daisy and star. 
 With all your faults I love you still, 
 And love another one never will. 
 
 Talk about passing out the gate 
 
 And going to some horrid fate! 
 If you have to go at all, 
 T, too, will climb the garden wall. 
 
 Think I would let you go alone? 
 
 I did that once, and so this wrong. 
 No; if I have made a mistake, 
 The consequences I must take. 
 
 With you I die, although I know 
 
 The sin of sins is doing so. 
 Give me the fruit now in your hand, 
 I'll eat. God knows where we will land." 
 
 "Adam! Now think before you eat; 
 
 You never heard the serpent speak; 
 No one is trying you to deceive, 
 Nothing your conscience to relieve. 
 
 Think what you do ere it is done; 
 
 Never undo can any one. 
 
 No, sweetheart, don't! Soon your God will come 
 And rid you of your trouble I am the one.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 99 
 
 Soon God will be here. Oh, where shall I fly? 
 Where, where is this death? Oh, how shall I die?" 
 
 "Don't worry so, Eve. Don't spoil your face. 
 There will be something doing ere that takes place," 
 
 "No, I must go. Something tells me I must; 
 "Tis that same something, Adam, that from the first 
 Kept me inside the gate, and still holds you here." 
 
 "Well, that may be so; I'm not sure of the gate; 
 That is not the question your desperate fate, 
 What can it be?" 
 
 "Oh, Adam, don't speak; I hardly can walk; 
 If you love me at all, don't talk, don't talk. 
 'Twill soon all be over I must go I must." 
 
 "You must go, you say ; you must go hence ; 
 
 You must go through the gate, though I can't see the 
 
 sense 
 There's no law to prevent me climbing the fence. 
 
 But, oh, what a muss you have brought me unto, 
 
 And who from your looks would have thought it 
 
 of you? 
 
 But what have I done? Am I making a fuss? 
 And why should I be involved in this muss? 
 
 What have I done? Have I got a square deal? 
 
 Why is it that I have to fret and to squeal? 
 When you were away talking to the devil 
 I was planting those bulbs brought by Gabriel 
 
 From the other side the kind that you roasted; 
 
 You hardly left seed, so good they were toasted. 
 Now I was doing the best I knew how, 
 And thought all was right look at me now.
 
 IOO DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To lose you or die what a very nice choice 
 Blame me if you can for making a noise." 
 
 "I have nothing to say, Adam; but I must go; 
 I dare not stay, God already must know, 
 
 And soon will be here. Do not think I don't love 
 
 By all that I know by the God above 
 I swear that I love you, and never did dream 
 What I did would involve you in any scheme. 
 
 Even now when I leave you, it is for your good; 
 
 When I'm gone you will be as at first you stood 
 All alone and holy. My fate as a warning 
 Will more than offset all that is alarming 
 
 To you. So now good-bye, love ; your Father is 
 coming 
 
 To straighten all trouble " 
 
 "Did you say he was coming? Give me the fruit! 
 Give me the apple! Is he coming? Quick! 
 Give me that apple ! I might lose you yet !" 
 
 He took the apple from her hand; 
 
 He ate the fruit, and so was damned. 
 That many a job to me has given, 
 Making the dead out of the living. 
 
 For no power had I at all 
 
 Ere sin your bodies did enthrall ; 
 
 Or, rather, till sin broke the charm 
 That kept you safe from every harm. 
 
 Thought you ever of a power 
 Might help you in an evil hour; 
 
 A power that would have helped you all, 
 
 Had it not been for the Fall? 
 But how this power to explain 
 Most puzzles me it has no earthly name.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IOI 
 
 But you have seen how the electric spark, 
 Now chained and fettered by your human art, 
 Is made to attract or even to repel 
 
 Gross matter. 
 
 And think there is no force in you 
 Which, were you with the Godhead true, 
 Has power to repel 
 Gross matter? 
 
 What bullet e'er so swift that it could not deflect ; 
 What blade so sharp but it could detect ; 
 What mass of rock so great that it could not arrest ; 
 Oh! What could harm you, were you ever blest? 
 There is no evil thing at all but sin; 
 With lack of love our troubles all begin ; 
 And as the love returns, would it me surprise, 
 As spreads the inner light, this force will meet your 
 
 eyes. 
 Then you must surely know, at least you must 
 
 suspect, 
 
 How your Godlike mind mere animals can check ; 
 And were it not that sin such cowards of you make, 
 You'd meet the lion's eye, the hissing of the snake, 
 And be at peace. Even the microbe's power 
 A holy mind can baffle every hour. 
 But half-way truth to show 
 Is evil but to sow ; 
 
 Without the change within 
 
 You make us demons grin. 
 
 It makes you daft. 
 
 Now, though this job that Satan did 
 Looked very small, yet there was hid 
 
 Something in man's corporeal part 
 
 Most rivaled the Creator's art. 
 What spirit ever made a soul, 
 Created life in part or whole?
 
 IO2 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But this thing, half God, half beast, 
 Of immortals though the least, 
 
 Makes immortals all the same, 
 
 As if Jehovah were his name. 
 
 And this it seemed that Satan knew, 
 For at once to hell he flew. 
 
 Would you talk of speed of light, 
 
 Had you seen him in his flight ; 
 
 Far beyond the bounds of space, 
 Beyond the stars whose light your race 
 
 Has never seen, and never will, 
 
 As here it can not reach until 
 
 Your race has vanished from the earth, 
 And here of life will be a dearth; 
 
 Then far beyond attraction's zone, 
 
 He strikes for regions of his own. 
 You have nothing to compare 
 With our mode of travel there. 
 
 No; the locomotive's puff, 
 
 Compared with light, has not enough 
 Of contrast with the speed he went, 
 And the speed that light is sent. 
 
 But the speed that he came back, 
 
 Compare will with no other fact. 
 
 The speed with which he went to hell 
 Your clocks could measure true and well, 
 
 For time and space to every one, 
 
 Not only all beneath the sun, 
 
 But all in heaven, or hell, or space, 
 Of every name and every race, 
 
 Are just the same. Now Space and Time, 
 
 These two were never in a crime ; 
 Never obeyed an angel's say ; 
 Were tampered with in any way:
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Obeyed the voice of none but He 
 
 Who rules through all eternity. 
 And never did I know before, 
 Though well I knew how they adore; 
 
 Never saw them obey. His voice, 
 
 His word, His will, their only choice; 
 Before that Satan was brought back 
 From hell to earth a fearful fact ! 
 
 You see, when he got to the pit 
 
 He \vent mouthing round a bit; 
 
 Strutting round the biggest devil 
 Ever gloried over evil ; 
 
 Telling the feat that he had done; 
 
 How he another race had won 
 
 From truth and right; all that is fair, 
 To falsehood, baseness and despair. 
 
 Then he chuckles, roars and snorts; 
 
 Wondered if God had heard reports; 
 Wondered how this ruptured love 
 Felt to Almighty God above; 
 
 Wondered how he liked such stuff; 
 
 Wondered if he had enough; 
 
 Wondered if Adam now would die, 
 And make another God would try. 
 
 Guessed that he had spoiled the plan 
 
 Of Godhead's procreating man. 
 "Why, the little imps," he said, 
 "Would all be mine, living or dead." 
 
 Then he struck another strain 
 
 A hellish, gurgling, low refrain: 
 
 "Demons," he said, "now by my wits 
 I have the old God in a fix. 
 
 You and I each chose our part, 
 
 None can we blame, no other's art
 
 IO4 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Deceived us; but that woman fair, 
 So innocent, I fooled down there; 
 
 I fooled her, now is she to blame? 
 
 For my sin must she suffer shame? 
 
 I tell you, imps, I have got Eloh" 
 
 But just about this very time 
 
 The Lord was sifting out the crime, 
 
 And Adam, trembling for his life, 
 
 Had laid the blame upon his wife. 
 Eve heard the accusation filed, 
 And said the serpent her beguiled. 
 
 The snake was wanted. Where did he fly? 
 "His shade is in hell," said the all-seeing Eye. 
 No time for seraph warrant serve, 
 Legions of angels had the nerve; 
 
 But wanted there at once was he, 
 
 The prince of demons, bold and free. 
 
 To Time and Space the Lord then spake, 
 And there before them writhed the snake. 
 
 No clock so fine that time could take, 
 
 Nor flash electric indicate. 
 
 That seemed a race with time left out, 
 A speed no figures tell about. 
 
 Have ever you a feeling felt, 
 
 Your heart within you seemed to melt; 
 A strange, a vague, an awful fear, 
 As if some holy one was near, 
 
 But all unseen ? You did not know, 
 
 Because your senses told you so; 
 
 At least no sense that e'er was named 
 By Adam's sons since sense inflamed. 
 
 But still you knew it, and you felt 
 
 As if the earth and all should melt. 
 
 'Twas thus those demons all did feel, 
 Their essence almost did congeal;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IO5 
 
 And then vague feeling through them swept, 
 The melting feeling o'er them crept, 
 
 Then recovering, buzzed around; 
 
 But no Satan there was found. l 
 Then they peered out into space 
 Too late, they could not find a trace. 
 
 But Satan crawling on the ground 
 
 Had met their sight, had they him found. 
 For this, God said, would be the fate 
 Forever after of the snake. 
 
 To Adam and his wife God talked 
 
 As when he in the garden walked; 
 Gave them a good chance to explain ; 
 Instead, each did some other blame. 
 
 But he ope'd not Satan's lips, 
 
 Gave him no chance to use his wits. 
 Father of lies! too well he knew 
 The truth he surely would eschew. 
 
 To him the veil he pulled aside 
 
 That does all the future hide; 
 Gave him a hint he had a plan 
 For salvation of the man ; 
 
 Told him of a struggle fierce 
 
 His haughty, scheming head would pierce; 
 Said: "Though hell's art they now must feel, 
 You will only bruise his heel." 
 
 Soon as Omnipotence released, 
 
 The wriggling, slimy, snake form ceased! 
 Soon as Jehovah loosed his rein, 
 Satan was himself again. 
 
 To concoct his hellish arts 
 
 Unceremoniously departs. 
 But was not that the strangest meet 
 That ever did the sunbeams greet!
 
 IO6 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 The Devil, all the human race, 
 And the Almighty face to face. 
 
 Shall they ever meet again? 
 
 Can you tell me where and when? 
 Should they meet, then you and I 
 May be there, as we can not fly. 
 
 Not as spectators there that day, 
 
 Not simply just to view the play; 
 I will have no scythe to swing, 
 You will have no pen to sling. 
 
 That will be a serious hour 
 
 To face the embodiment of power. 
 At least so Satan seems to think 
 When in prophecy he blinks. 
 
 But he blinked not when released, 
 
 When Jehovah's fiat ceased. 
 
 Straight he went to evil's bed, 
 And there the riot act he read. 
 
 Anguish on his face depict, 
 
 Despair and energy conflict. 
 
 Helpless wrath and hate confound, 
 For being that way yanked around. 
 
 Then he blowed out from his mouth, 
 
 Like hot malaria from the south, 
 Using language born in hell; 
 How long in use, I can not tell. 
 
 Long, that word was meant for you; 
 
 Too short, seen from my point of view. 
 As near as I can recollect, 
 He used words to this effect: 
 
 "Comrades, who now idly sit, 
 Forever brooding in the pit, 
 
 What in hell have you found here? 
 Or are you all congealed with fear?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IO/ 
 
 Is this the way you serve me now? 
 Thus you perform your solemn vow? 
 
 Thus the blood bond of our hearts 
 
 Forever sluggishness imparts? 
 Listen! I have done a thing 
 That surely will incentive bring; 
 
 That will bring you work to do, 
 
 With plenty of reward in view. 
 Reward! Yes, that is what I said, 
 Though hope a long time has been dead. 
 
 No gleam I feel within my breast, 
 
 The fault lies in this frozen chest. 
 We have nursed despair so long, 
 Hope is a stranger all unknown. 
 
 This barren heart admits no light 
 
 To cheer its rayless, gloomy night. 
 But yet in ages it may thaw 
 And warm again my craving maw. 
 
 For mark me, boys, by my wits 
 
 Elohim now is in a fix. 
 Now well you know my mind is clear, 
 Though rayless, gloomy, without cheer. 
 
 Left he it thus so we might know 
 
 The fullness of our deepest woe? 
 Or how it was I do not care, 
 Yet know I he is in a snare. 
 
 He's crossed the Rubicon of wrong, 
 
 And must come tumbling from the throne. 
 Well, now, what makes your eyes bulge out, 
 Showing suspicion worse than doubt? 
 
 Never since rebellion's flag 
 
 Separated good and bad, 
 And we weighed our mighty cause 
 With the old-established laws;
 
 IO8 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And these old laws so weighty found, 
 They sent us reeling to the ground; 
 
 Never has a ray of hope 
 
 Pierced the horizon of our smoke 
 
 Till now! 
 
 Till now; yes, that is what I said; 
 Or surely these old laws are dead. 
 
 For the old God who rules the throne 
 
 Expressed his sympathy with wrong. 
 Now, well I know you recollect 
 How carefully he heaven swept 
 
 Of every trace of those who made 
 
 A strike for freedom, or essayed, 
 Even in the slightest, to conceal, 
 Or even not the truth reveal; 
 
 He swept till not the slightest trace 
 
 Was found in any heart or place. 
 
 But now, to save these Godlike beasts, 
 His pets, the broken law he cheats 
 
 The broken law with which he bound them 
 
 To himself and all around him. 
 
 Yes; they have smashed that law, and now 
 He has made some kind of vow 
 
 To patch it up ; but mark my word, 
 
 The very idea is absurd. 
 
 Not only so; the fact he tries 
 Makes me believe without surmise 
 
 That chaos soon will come again, 
 
 And tumbling, rumbling ruin reign. 
 
 Then, mark me, demons, in that day, 
 When the old throne of God gives way, 
 
 I will ride that thing through space 
 
 A reckless, riot-ruling race. 
 
 That was my promise from the first, 
 And I will do it sure or burst.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IOQ 
 
 Oh, you unbelieving crowd, 
 Why do you not applaud aloud? 
 
 Frozen with ages of despair, 
 
 Gleams no ray of hope in there, 
 Where the sunlight used to dwell ? 
 But why should I speak thus in hell! 
 
 Hope thou, mirage of the heart; 
 
 Damning insult, quick depart ! 
 We need new words if we would trace 
 Primeval chaos and embrace 
 
 A language nerved with wildest fire, 
 
 Sullen wrath, and fiercest ire; 
 A language suited to the time 
 When wreck and ruin are not crime, 
 
 But the proper thing to do. 
 
 Does not the Lord lead on a crew 
 To build for love a lasting tomb, 
 And hope shut up in deepest gloom, 
 
 And back to chaos, back to night, 
 
 Urge every heart and every light? 
 Yes, the old God, who used to rule, 
 Unto himself has proved a fool ; 
 
 Unto himself has proved untrue 
 
 Why not he as well as you? 
 He will sympathize with wrong, 
 For to save it he will groan ; 
 
 And groans creation to its root, 
 
 While every imp in hell may hoot. 
 Save it! Yes, and save his throne? 
 No! Chaos comes a-rumbling on; 
 
 All are partners now in sin; 
 
 Destruction really must begin; 
 Justice is tainted with decay; 
 All are palsied with dismay;
 
 IIO DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Omnipotence is paralyzed, 
 And everything to ruin hies. 
 
 "Now, imps, all look me in the face; 
 You are a disbelieving race; 
 
 You look at me as if you thought 
 
 To murder truth I had been bought. 
 No ! truth is dead and murdered now ; 
 I will tell you when and how. 
 
 It all was done by juggling words ; 
 
 They are fitful things, these little birds; 
 They are handy tools in a brain like mine, 
 For breaking hearts and show'ring brine. 
 
 You know the woman I deceived 
 
 The stuff I told her she believed, 
 And what God told her not to do, 
 She has gone and done that, too. 
 
 Not only so that is not all 
 
 Just the commencement of the ball 
 That old stiff she calls her lord 
 (He, by the way, calls her 'adored'), 
 
 Rather than risk another rib 
 
 That looks something like a fib 
 He has gone and followed suit, 
 He has eaten of the fruit 
 Now, you imps, why don't you toot ? 
 
 Remember he was not deceived ; 
 
 The law, he knew it, and believed. 
 Now, was not that a damning sin? 
 Should not punishment begin ? 
 
 Should not despair and grim dismay 
 
 Clutch him from the present day? 
 But I am glad it does not do it, 
 Though I can not quite see through it. 
 
 Listen, imps! that is not all 
 
 It as a part is very small.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. Ill 
 
 It very unimportant is, 
 
 Compared with this last slip of His, 
 
 Who claims eternity to rule, 
 
 But now has acted like a fool. 
 Sometimes you know a trifling thing 
 Will the greatest result bring. 
 
 Sometimes when you have done your best, 
 
 Plotted and planned with zeal and zest, 
 And been fooled, a trifling thing 
 Will the wished-for result bring. 
 
 So it is now ; I only tried 
 
 To blast the love for which God sighed ; 
 I only wished to mar the plan 
 He seemed to have in making man. 
 
 But the result is, strange to say, 
 
 Of more import in every way 
 Than ever I had dared to dream, 
 Since we in this abyss were seen. 
 
 The result will yet fulfill 
 
 All we ever dreamed of ill; 
 All ever promised you by sin ; 
 All we ever tried to win ; 
 
 All will be ours, or from the throne 
 
 Justice is benumb'd and gone. 
 Either though which I can not tell, 
 I've been so long immured in hell 
 
 Either his love unto that pair 
 
 Has turned his head, and formed a snare, 
 Or else, perhaps, that little mix 
 Which got the woman in a fix 
 
 Deception for I fooled her sure 
 
 Suggests that he should find a cure. 
 Whichever way, it matters not, 
 He has not damned them, as he ought ;
 
 112 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Not final was the judgment given, 
 As when we were swept from heaven. 
 
 He has weakened with the rod, 
 
 And Justice kneels no more to God; 
 No longer from the central throne 
 Streams the light of Reason on. 
 
 The scales of Justice slightly tip 
 
 Where the last court of appeals doth sit. 
 A hazy mist now meets the eye, 
 Where once the ruler of the sky 
 
 Beamed with luster bright, divine; 
 
 Now it shines like yours and mine, 
 Black, like diamonds from the pit, 
 For the smoking furnace fit; 
 
 And hell keeps a-creeping on, 
 
 Embracing all things within its zone. 
 
 All now it takes to make things mine 
 Is that wondrous factor, Time. 
 
 For the poison of the snake 
 
 Beats in the heart blood uncreate, 
 And will surely from that source 
 Permeate each vital force. 
 
 What we could not gain by strife, 
 
 When we fought as if for life, 
 Now is ours ; a subtle turn 
 Where hatred ne'er forgets to burn 
 
 This brain of mine has victory won ; 
 
 Wreck and ruin have begun. 
 
 And as the vanquished must come down, 
 And to the victor yield the crown, 
 
 I will be the great I Am 
 
 Let him fill any place he can. 
 
 Long we have been the under dog, 
 Been kicked and fettered like a rogue.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1 13 
 
 Cheer up, now we are on top; 
 Cheer up, and catch a ray of hope. 
 
 Damn the hope! it will not burn; 
 
 Our hearts to joy it will not turn. 
 'Tis past the power of victory's art 
 To thaw the icebergs in my heart. 
 
 But there is one thing we can do: 
 
 To hate and hell we can prove true. 
 Its gorge with all things we will cram, 
 And o'er the throne of God write 'damn.' 
 
 And though we rule not as we thought, 
 
 When first we for the victory fought; 
 Though not with energy and might 
 We sit upon the throne of light, 
 
 And create things for fun and sport, 
 
 Which I supposed would be my forte; 
 Still, we may rule when hell and hate 
 In Time's cycle, fixed by fate, 
 
 Are on top and now it seems 
 
 The morning of this period gleams. 
 Where will Justice hide her head 
 When her God to right is dead? 
 
 Pleads now Justice for her sword, 
 
 From her sin-protecting Lord. 
 Paralyzed is Justice's rod 
 By a sinner-loving God! 
 
 Paralyze it! yes, he may, 
 
 But the price will have to pay 
 He must pay the deed is done; 
 A fearful victory hell hath won. 
 
 Have not I told you more than twice, 
 
 Every one has got his price? 
 The price he puts on mawkish love 
 Is everything in heaven above,
 
 114 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And everything in space below. 
 
 He piles them up and lets them go; 
 He lets them go, and go they must; 
 Eternal thrones and starry dust, 
 
 All, all must go; down he must come, 
 
 And like the rest of us become. 
 Well, now, you need not look afraid; 
 His coming must have been delayed; 
 
 But sure what will I swear by now? 
 
 There is no way to clinch a vow. 
 Each stable thing is out of place, 
 The throne of God is off its base. 
 
 That's so. I am the great I AM myself; 
 
 The greatest, I swear by myself. 
 So, now, by Satan hear me swear; 
 So, now, by Satan I declare 
 
 The end of all things good has come; 
 
 Truth, love and purity have run 
 The time appointed them by fate, 
 And now preeminent is hate. 
 
 Now hate and lying, hellish notes, 
 
 Chime with heaven's brightest hopes; 
 Where once was heaven sound they well, 
 And every where' s engulfed by hell. 
 
 For where sin is, 'tis hell, we know, 
 
 In heaven's heights, or down below. 
 
 "Now, you lazy, loafing tribe, 
 Open all your mouths full wide; 
 
 And everything in heaven will drop 
 
 Into your gaping jaws will flop. 
 Is it thus that vict'ry's won? 
 Think you fighting will be fun, 
 When I the deed for you have done? 
 
 Listen, you shiftless, shuffling crew; 
 
 Listless, never dare to do;
 
 DEATH AND THE) REPORTER. 
 
 Are you companions fit for me? 
 Are these comrades that I see? 
 
 Where are the spirits who once did dare 
 
 To fight with Omnipotence up there? 
 What if we fought and lost the day, 
 Did we ever have fair play? 
 
 He was right, and we were wrong; 
 
 But mark me how has changed the song; 
 Here we meet on equal ground, 
 All are in the same boat found; 
 
 O'er all the flag of Wrong's unfurled, 
 
 And Justice can not be now hurled 
 
 'Gainst either side, 
 
 For right is right and wrong is wrong. 
 Not even can Jehovah's throne 
 
 Make right of wrong or wrong of right 
 
 That is far beyond his might. 
 Beyond his famed omnipotence. 
 
 And mark me well mark what I say 
 
 This is an epoch-making day. 
 Observe and think all of us know 
 
 Things are not as they used to be 
 A million years ago. 
 
 His famed omniscience at the last 
 
 Has had to juggle with the past; 
 To straighten out what he has done, 
 Efface the spots from off the sun. 
 
 Preserved before by pure, unsullied light, 
 
 That throne must now be held by might. 
 It must. Who is responsible for that? 
 It will not A bashful devil states a fact. 
 
 And mark me now, for the truth I tell, 
 
 Would it not suit Jehovah well 
 Earth's ball to amputate 
 From the universe create?
 
 Il6 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He can create He does create. 
 Does He can He annihilate? 
 
 "Now, though I really do suppose 
 I alone can whip our foes, 
 Still, as you fought with me before, 
 And listened to the battle's roar, 
 If you wish to try again, 
 Where cause of victory is plain, 
 We will now the ground survey 
 And marshal forces for the fray. 
 
 You know a gap in heaven was felt 
 Where we for eons long had knelt. 
 When we left, to fill it up, 
 I looked for something quite abrupt. 
 By fiat of his mighty will 
 I thought he would our places fill. 
 But when we ever think a thing, 
 Some other way he will it bring; 
 Some other way will surely do 
 Than has been surmised by you. 
 And so it seems he has create 
 Matter in galore of late; 
 
 Gathered its mass in balls of fire, 
 Which on cooling do aspire 
 To be the homes of creatures strange, 
 Procreating in their range; 
 
 Matter strangely mixed with life; 
 Unholy union, fraught with strife. 
 And then on us an insult deep 
 Enough to make creation weep; 
 Insult on injury he heaps 
 The under dog before him creeps. 
 He takes this brutal, brutish swine, 
 And breathes on him our breath divine.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 117 
 
 This we know can ne'er cease exist; 
 
 To guess the rest is not a risk. 
 To fill our places with such stuff 
 Will almost make one say 'Enough.' 
 
 He hardly deigns create at all, 
 
 And tries to make us feel so small. 
 When they cover all earth's face, 
 He'll send them to some other place; 
 
 No need to guess where that will be, 
 
 When heaven's third is where you see. 
 That, by my word, was Heaven's plan 
 They had in thus creating man. 
 
 But oh! I got my foot in it; 
 
 But oh ! I got my snout in it. 
 Not in their council did they take 
 The great I Am, this reprobate; 
 
 Although advice I oft have given 
 
 When I was with them up in heaven. 
 Better, when there is work to do, 
 Consult with many than with few. 
 
 Of course, when all are of one mind, 
 
 When all are of the selfsame kind, 
 It matters not; for what one says, 
 The others only seek to praise. 
 
 But when opposing minds can meet 
 
 In council, they are more discreet, 
 And the result of give and take 
 Is something of more stable make. 
 
 But, then, I am well satisfied, 
 
 And the result have ratified, 
 And ever after from this time 
 Will take the final touch as mine. 
 
 Seeing they are so considerate, 
 
 Advice like mine to underrate,
 
 Il8 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 I will consider well their plans, 
 
 And touch them up with willing hands. 
 
 With willing hands and subtle mind, 
 
 We are a match for all their kind. 
 I am the match for all in heaven, 
 Now the fatal blow is given. 
 
 That blow itself you did not see; 
 
 That alone appears to me. 
 And really well, you ought to know 
 But leak it must not to our foe 
 
 Yet it is necessary now; 
 
 So knit the brains beneath your brow, 
 And stand with me where I have been, 
 And grasp with me what I have seen. 
 
 I'll tell what knit your fate to mine 
 
 Eons before the mist did shine. 
 
 "Then listen! Eons ere I broached, 
 Eons ere ever I approached 
 A kindred spirit to inspire 
 With freedom's wildest dream of fire, 
 I thought it often o'er and o'er, 
 And looked at it behind, before; 
 I studied oft and studied well, 
 But no conclusion could I tell. 
 To tell of that we had to try, 
 And will we o'er the result cry? 
 
 Yes, oft I thought what would become 
 Of all his glory and his Son, 
 Should any dare the halo break, 
 And unto fierce law-breaking take. 
 Should any exalt liberty 
 Above her God. What slavery 
 Thus to be bound forced to respect 
 All others' rights! Could we except
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. II 
 
 And be free? Free from all love! 
 
 How would he feel when we above 
 
 All laws should rise? 
 Yes, oft I wondered, oft I thought, 
 Oft surmised, and oft it dropped; 
 
 Thought this would happen, then did doubt; 
 
 Then turned the problem inside out. 
 But one thing never could I tell, 
 Study e'er so long and well : 
 
 Tell how it would affect the whole, 
 
 Should part refuse his loved control. 
 Part of the whole is still a part, 
 As fixed by the Creator's art. 
 
 Like those machines we have in hell, 
 
 Which sometimes work, sometimes rebel, 
 When one of them receives a jar, 
 And something breaks ; does that not mar 
 
 The whole machine, and make it stop 
 
 The whole as well as that which broke? 
 Or let some masterpiece of art 
 Receive a flaw in some small part, 
 
 It must deteriorate the whole, 
 
 As if the vision had a soul. 
 Why not, then, the great, vast plan 
 Which eons upon eons ran 
 
 The plan embracing God with all 
 
 The rest of us, both great and small; 
 Making the whole and every part 
 One vast masterpiece of art? 
 
 I spoiled it, and you followed suit; 
 
 Witness now the Godhead root. 
 Down he comes; 'twas fixed by fate. 
 Sin affects the whole, and hate, 
 
 How it burns, where love has dwelt, 
 
 And where myriad angels knelt.
 
 120 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 It will be ever burning there, 
 Till all are helpless in despair. 
 
 It has burned since first we fought; 
 
 God hated sin in my first thought; 
 But 'tis hatred all the same; 
 Hatred, and who is now to blame? 
 
 Now no more in perfect love 
 
 Dwells the Almighty God above. 
 
 "But now suppose that I could take 
 Something that he has create; 
 
 Some atom of material stuff, 
 
 Of which he surely has enough, 
 And simply it annihilate; 
 Not only change its form or shape, 
 
 But really make it cease exist, 
 
 So that forever 'twould be missed; 
 Could I really this thing do? 
 Is there a thick head among you 
 
 Who could not easily figure out 
 
 The certainty that I could rout 
 
 The force on high? 
 Did not I do more than this 
 When I changed this love of his? 
 
 Did I not create this hate. 
 
 Or was it all-pervading Fate 
 That made the change? 
 Now listen, all ye mutton heads, 
 Move softly where your limit treads; 
 
 It is not all things that you may know; 
 
 Try swallowing all, you must o'erflow; 
 Nor is it requisite you should; 
 It might not be for your own good; 
 
 Yours is but to do or die; 
 
 The fountain head of thought am I.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 121 
 
 You do just as you are told; 
 I'll do the thinking as of old. 
 
 Have not I told you oft before, 
 
 Even when we did adore : 
 God is not everything he claims? 
 Does he embrace all that he names? 
 Whence, then, this hate? 
 
 Something is higher than the chains 
 
 Of love, which bind where'er he reigns; 
 
 I call it Fate. 
 
 And now the cycle wheels are turning, 
 Now all-powerful hate is burning, 
 
 Now a change is coming o'er 
 
 The Godhead which we did adore. 
 Long seem they to have been on top, 
 And claimed to have unsullied thought. 
 
 But mark me well, and note it down, 
 
 When 'tis proclaimed, I'll take the crown. 
 A great tribunal I will make, 
 And call upon the witness Fate ; 
 And I will have him plainly state 
 
 What was before this great usurper; 
 
 And who it was, the trio nurture, 
 And what the trio did to them, 
 That no trace of where or when, 
 
 No monument their name to state > 
 
 Existence seems obliterate. 
 Only by inference we know 
 That it never could be so. 
 
 And by inference I state 
 
 When the cycles moved by Fate, 
 To a certain stage of time 
 When the imperial crown is mine. 
 
 You, my comrades, then can tell 
 
 Who preceded us and fell.
 
 122 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 I will leave you all in state, 
 
 And never will obliterate. 
 
 To hasten on this glorious time 
 By sullen wrath and fearful crime, 
 
 Now 'tis yours and mine to play; 
 
 Now sounds the trumpet for the fray. 
 The challenge from Jehovah given, 
 To meet him in that midway heaven, 
 The earth. 
 
 O earth! earth! what shalt thou know, 
 
 Where the fiercest fight the foe? 
 For the challenge we take up, 
 And thou, O man! must drink a cup 
 
 Of damning misery and woe; 
 
 Demons all say that is so. 
 
 "Now I call for volunteers 
 Willing service always cheers. 
 
 Now, please do not all speak at once, 
 
 And overwhelm me for the nonce. 
 First we will have a committee 
 Who in figures good shall be; 
 
 And they shall figure out how long 
 
 The earth is fit to live upon. 
 
 Then some biologist shall make 
 Another kind of estimate: 
 
 Suppose the brute God and his mate 
 
 Should breed like any other ape, 
 
 And die, like others of his kind, 
 
 How many of them, think you, you'll find 
 
 Could live upon that whirling ball 
 
 Till frozen were the life of all? 
 
 Now they need not figure close; 
 'Tis hard to estimate the loss; 
 
 The millions who shall die and suffer 
 
 From the hate their hearts shall cover;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 123 
 
 Billions who will not breed at all, 
 
 From shock occasioned by the Fall ; 
 The trillions who shall die too soon, 
 Leaving for others lots of room; 
 
 For all must be impregned by hell 
 
 Fiends incarnate there must dwell. 
 That's why I want those figures now, 
 To tell how many imps must bow 
 
 Their lofty natures, squeeze so small 
 
 To be a microbe on a ball. 
 A microbe in a microbe's heart, 
 Fiendlike impulse to impart; 
 
 There you can pull, where pull you can, 
 
 A fearful pull within the man. 
 For a struggle you will find, 
 Perhaps a struggle with your kind; 
 
 Not flesh and blood alone you fight 
 
 Would that call forth all your might? 
 But what I gathered from his song, 
 When God first sympathized with wrong, 
 
 The microbe campaign will embrace 
 
 Not only all the human race, 
 But I should judge the fate of all 
 Hangs on the struggle on that ball. 
 
 I also think, from what he said, 
 
 When to that interview I stayed, 
 Some way or other yet, the race 
 May have some choice of the place 
 
 Where they for evermore may dwell 
 
 Up in heaven or here in hell. 
 
 "So now brace up for the war; 
 For the combat on that star; 
 
 How many imps unto a man 
 Let us decide quick as we can
 
 124 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 How many? Make it sure and strong; 
 
 Err on the safe side, guard the wrong. 
 You should not lose a single soul 
 After I have wrecked the whole. 
 
 But should you lose a single spirit 
 
 Where in hell his guard will bear it 
 Bear my wrath with torture given 
 This hell will be a very heaven 
 
 Compared with what the sufferings are 
 
 Of cowards whipped upon that star. 
 So when you cheerfully enroll 
 Your names within this smoky scroll; 
 
 When the decisive step you take, 
 
 And get another chance to rate 
 
 Your noble selves, dream not of ease 
 Or any craving to appease, 
 
 Or anything in part or whole; 
 
 But simply plan to damn that soul. 
 
 And what you do, see it done well, 
 And bring the microbes into hell. 
 
 Do not forget with whom you fight ; 
 
 Do everything with all your might. 
 
 And should the struggle doubtful seem, 
 Do not forget, I am supreme. 
 
 Think how I spoiled the image fair 
 
 That God himself had written there. 
 
 Think how I found them bright as light, 
 And left them in the darkest night. 
 
 I will come at every cry. 
 
 But damn the imp who e'er says die; 
 He will find the hottest hell 
 Another shaft within this well 
 For such as he. 
 
 So now think before you act, 
 
 No day dream this a fearful fact.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 125 
 
 Only those should join the crew 
 
 Who are brave to dare and do. 
 Only volunteers should sign, 
 Who nerve and will and grit combine. 
 
 Only those should e'er begin, 
 
 Who are bound the prize to win; 
 For never must the day be lost; 
 Now is the time to count the cost. 
 
 As you will have to go in squads, 
 
 Sixes and sevens, for the jades; 
 And many more than that sometimes, 
 For those who go in higher crimes ; 
 
 Choose your comrades choose them well, 
 
 From those who are your chums in hell. 
 Rather than from those in heaven 
 Who joined with us in thanksgiving. 
 
 Affinities that grew in hell 
 
 Will suit our purpose just as well. 
 Now count the cost and count it sure; 
 Who can the penalty endure 
 
 Of those who try and fail? 
 None shall alleviate or cure 
 
 The sting that makes them wail." 
 
 Was not there silence in the pit 
 
 When Satan thought 'twas time to quit? 
 
 A fearful silence reigned in hell, 
 
 Silence the stoutest heart did quell. 
 The stillness almost seemed to freeze; 
 Spellbound, with no one to release, 
 
 None moved or spoke a word, 
 
 Until the silence seemed absurd. 
 Then some one roared 'twas getting hot, 
 And every one looked toward the spot. 
 
 Some one who ne'er before had spoke, 
 
 Mounted an adjacent rock;
 
 126 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Oh, how he ripped and tore; 
 He never spoke before, 
 
 Nor since. As when the donkey Balaam rode 
 
 Had his mouth opened by his God, 
 Beelzebub rose from the gloom 
 And settled his case none too soon, 
 
 And told him sharp to quit, 
 
 And told him down to sit. 
 
 He did. 
 
 Beel thought we had enough of talk ; 
 Thought now it was high time to act. 
 We did. 
 
 Then such a buzz there was in hell, 
 
 Such racket ne'er before befell 
 
 Mine ears to hear. 
 
 They formed in squads of every size, 
 Vowed they were sure to win a prize, 
 Yelled till the echoes reached the skies, 
 But not a cheer ! 
 
 Yes, you should have seen that crowd. 
 
 Such pandemonium was allowed, 
 It raised from out the depths of hell 
 Some who scarce had moved since first they fell; 
 
 Disheartened laziness their strength. 
 
 Many a man they've stretched at length, 
 Curse to himself and all around, 
 His slothful habits so confound; 
 
 He might as well be dead 
 
 And lying in his bed. 
 The active spirits fairly danced; 
 Grim flushed the faces lately blanched; 
 
 They thought their time had come at last 
 
 The fearful ennui was past. 
 Now there was something they could do, 
 With plenty of reward in view ;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 127 
 
 Not as they long had done 
 
 In many a blazing sun; 
 With quivering molecules had fought, 
 In nature's realm destruction wrought; 
 
 In vegetable life had sown 
 
 The seeds of death a fearful wrong; 
 In animals had practiced sure 
 The swinging scythe a perfect cure. 
 
 Though still the plan of God seemed working, 
 
 When we in angel plans were lurking, 
 Still the good seemed surely gaining, 
 Though we our every nerve were straining. 
 
 Uneasy feeling through us crept 
 
 That we withal were being swept 
 
 Along in some vast plan ; 
 But now that Satan's hands were dipped 
 In nobler game that he had whipped 
 
 That God-beast, man, 
 We thought or did surmise at least, 
 Or tried to think not only beast, 
 
 But even of the angel band, 
 
 Were wreckd on sin's deceitful strand; 
 And somehow Godhead was to blame 
 For furnishing such easy game; 
 
 Allowing damnation on two souls, 
 
 Lasting as creation rolls. 
 Then it seemed victory over he 
 Who claims omnipotent to be. 
 
 We angel works had spoiled enough 
 
 Were nearly tired of such light stuff; 
 And even Godhead seemed to own it, 
 If Satan's word had truth upon it. 
 
 There might at least be something in it, 
 
 And we would try our best to win it.
 
 128 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 That is, if Satan's words were true, 
 And surely there was something new. 
 And probably, 'twas as he said, 
 The fairest work that angels made; 
 What took them ages to evolve, 
 So good, the Godhead did resolve 
 
 To give them breath such as we breathe, 
 Around them such a web to weave, 
 To hurt 'twas far beyond the skill 
 Of this old scythe to do them ill. 
 And with the power to procreate 
 Themselves at an increasing rate, 
 Where would the matter end? 
 What did he intend? 
 
 But oh, the change that now had come! 
 
 So short the race that they had run 
 Of love, of purity, of peace, 
 Their safety with their sin did cease. 
 
 Now this old scythe was good again 
 
 Upon the fleshly parts of men. 
 But what about the breath of life, 
 Which can not die in any strife? 
 
 Would that forever dwell with us 
 
 In this dying, living muss? 
 And would God let them propagate, 
 Or with the pair seal every fate? 
 
 Ihen we had victory o'er him won, 
 
 And spoiled the work he had begun. 
 No, we were sure they would go on, 
 And spirits make to laugh or groan. 
 
 Their choice as they had at first, 
 
 Their choice to be loved or curst, 
 Each one might have, we thought; 
 But, then, 'twas dearly bought.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1 29 
 
 If we with angels of our kind 
 
 Should fight within the human mind, 
 They tied up to one narrow way, 
 We with all else to have full play, 
 
 Could surely make it win. 
 
 We wanted to begin; 
 We were spoiling for the fight, 
 And signed the roll as men of might. 
 
 We signed it with a will, 
 
 We every page did fill. 
 Why, there were demons came and signed 
 Whose memory had escaped my mind. 
 
 From cracks and crevices they came, 
 
 From mist, and places hard to name, 
 
 Crawled from the pit, some dropped like rain. 
 Such a looking crowd 
 Should not have been allowed 
 
 Hideous, frightful, crushed by pain, 
 
 Was the Almighty not to blame 
 For having them endowed 
 With that of which freemen are proud : 
 
 The choice to do right or wrong, 
 
 The choice theirs to laugh or groan? 
 The Breath of Life! A fearful thing 
 That joys inspire or tortures wring. 
 
 O Life! O Breath of Life! 
 
 Will never cease this strife? 
 Can not we die ! Tell me why ? 
 Mortally wounded, and we try. 
 Mortally wounded, still we cry. 
 
 There is no death for Death; 
 No Breath of Life can die; 
 
 No torture stills its breath, 
 However hard we try.
 
 I3O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Existence still rolls on; 
 
 It lives in every zone; 
 
 Time only makes it moan; 
 Ne'er can it cease exist 
 Or vanish into mist. 
 
 O Breath of Life! O mystery! 
 
 Who shall write thy history? 
 Do you think no record's kept? 
 Do you think you ever slept? 
 
 And when sleeping dreamed a dream 
 
 The imagery, though faintly seen, 
 Was not so faint, but they did keep 
 A record of that dreamy sleep. 
 
 Is there mystery up there 
 
 Where they even number hair? 
 Who is this with whom we fight? 
 Who exhausts our strength and might? 
 
 Who overrules the work we do? 
 
 Who ever makes us but the crew 
 Who demonstrate of truth one phase 
 Rebellion's miserable lays? 
 
 Surely this must have Satan galled, 
 When he your race with sin enthralled. 
 
 When he mounted on his throne 
 
 And spoke the words I now intone. 
 When the hubbub was subdued, 
 Words of wisdom forth he spewed. 
 
 When we order could maintain, 
 
 Satan was wound up again. 
 
 "Powers of darkness! Powers of night! 
 
 Powers who equal those we fight! 
 What more need I now say than this? 
 More would surely be amiss.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Yet I will say more than that, 
 
 And well you know it is a fact. 
 Powers whose equal there are none ! 
 Aspiring powers who grasp the throne, 
 
 The throne before which we have knelt, 
 
 Whose power and presence we have felt 
 Whose power and presence we shall feel. 
 Though nevermore before it kneel. 
 
 Kneel ! no, never ! How times change ! 
 
 Eternity, how vast thy range ! 
 Range, how vast ! Yet who did think 
 We were now upon the brink 
 
 Of such a change, a change like this 
 
 That Fate the under dog should kiss? 
 Kissed the dog that looked so dead 
 The victor's crown is on his head. 
 
 Head that did it. Did it. What? 
 
 Forged the snare that now has caught 
 The throne of God; now it is ours, 
 Yours and mine, victorious powers. 
 
 "But I have asked you who did think 
 We were now upon the brink. 
 
 Well, if you thought I was asleep, 
 
 When I was but thinking deep, 
 
 I was but musing o'er the dream 
 Which I have dreamt so oft unseen. 
 
 Even in the blaze of heaven's light 
 
 I studied it with all my might. 
 
 I studied it but tell who may, 
 Words fail ideas to convey; 
 
 Ideas gauzy, mazy, thin, 
 
 To tell them where shall I begin? 
 What if He evil should permit, 
 Would it on Him rebound and hit?
 
 132 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 If ever He allowed us sin, 
 Would not the end of right begin? 
 If ever He allowed us choose 
 The wrong way, and our free will use 
 To bring a curse on all around ; 
 Would not the same on Him rebound? 
 
 He did. It did. That foul thing Hate 
 Now binds the so-called uncreate. 
 That Hate has bound him from the day 
 First we espoused its envious sway; 
 
 And bind it shall, till hand and foot 
 With all the hosts of hell to hoot, 
 Down from the throne He descends 
 What then? Ah, well it all depends 
 And this time is hastening on, 
 The props are swaying 'neath the throne; 
 Hate on a star has broken out 
 Did you not hear the victor's shout? 
 Two more spirits with free will 
 Have chosen the side of sin and ill; 
 Two less above, two more below 
 Straws show the current's steady flow. 
 Yes, on a tiny star in space 
 He chose to show creative grace; 
 A sneaking Godhead chose the place 
 To start a procreating race 
 
 Of spirits, something like ourselves, 
 But badly mixed the puny elves. 
 His purpose now we will not guess, 
 As he has made it such a mess. 
 
 We will not guess 'tis plain to see 
 The insult deep to you and me 
 We who are first in Fate's creation, 
 No way behind the great Causation
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 133 
 
 Who I suppose the credit takes, 
 Calls us the specimens he makes. 
 
 Ain't I a nice specimen? I am It 
 
 His greatest effort, yes, by quite a bit. 
 
 Look at me ! Do you blame me much 
 For thinking, when his best work was such, 
 
 That I could fill his place? 
 
 Look at me ! Had I made such a botch, 
 I'd quit the job, and never again touch 
 The high-toned business of creating. 
 
 And now he tries our places to fill 
 
 With monkeys minus of the tail; 
 
 Of flesh and blood and spirit mixed 
 A loathsome compound he has fixed. 
 
 'But this was too much for Fate, 
 They from their lethargy awake; 
 
 And I, their servant, they have used 
 
 This horrid insult have refused. 
 This awful insult makes me creep, 
 And makes t!:e very heavens weep; 
 
 Yet it would not me much surprise 
 
 If God would take what we despite 
 That ruined pair try them to save ; 
 Try to make their progeny behave ; 
 
 Try from the wreckage save the living, 
 
 To fill our places up in heaven. 
 All I can say is, should he try, 
 Then the eternal God must die. 
 
 His honor's pledged, and try he must 
 
 And win, or grovel in the dust. 
 With the pretensions he hangs out, 
 A slight defeat means utter rout. 
 
 No slight defeat will mark his fall, 
 
 But crash complete the fate of all.
 
 134 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But who did think the master brain 
 Grasped such a plan without a strain? 
 
 Oceans of matter to create, 
 
 His slaves with mathematics wait; 
 Assort it into masses all 
 The heat escaping- leaves a ball 
 
 At least, where we don't interfere 
 
 And do some damage to the sphere; 
 Then on the cooling ball he started 
 Life in matter this we parted. 
 
 He it made to procreate, 
 
 We pursue with bitter hate; 
 Higher grows the grade, however, 
 We still pursue and ever sever ; 
 
 Still evolves the mighty plan, 
 
 Culminating in this man, 
 With spirit even like to us, 
 A horrid thing, a mixed-up muss; 
 
 But procreating, making more 
 
 Who soon would through creation soar. 
 
 "Is this the plan? His fertile brain 
 Went long ways round his point to gain. 
 
 But well you know how I was watching; 
 I knew each scheme that he was hatching; 
 I thought them out ere they were done ; 
 That is how I the battle won. 
 
 Was not he hot at being fooled, 
 And muttered something as he cooled ; 
 Something about a bruised head 
 Spoke thus of one he counts as dead. 
 Something about a bruised heel 
 I do expect to hear them squeal. 
 Do not forget that head's all right, 
 And the sole cause of all their fright ;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 135 
 
 For the eternal wheels are turning, 
 And hate in every heart is burning; 
 
 And hate's time is coming on 
 
 When I shall mount on heaven's throne. 
 That is how it all must end. 
 But let us to details attend; 
 
 So no discord e'er shall mar 
 
 The conflict on that little star; 
 So we may formulate a plan, 
 Let us look up this compound man. 
 
 Within a beast a God's enshrined 
 
 Within a beast a Godlike mind; 
 Just let us study up the mix, 
 Soon we will have them in a fix. 
 
 Amid the clanging wheels of time 
 
 How did God perpetrate the crime 
 Of breathing into bestial frame 
 Our spirits, and us all defame? 
 
 A speck whose course we can not trace 
 
 Among the rushing globes in space ; 
 
 Scarce see the star round which it wheels, 
 Has cooled, and has in spots congealed. 
 
 Upon its face the loafing crowd 
 
 Who sputter praise to God aloud, 
 
 When they before his presence bask. 
 Sought a relief from odious task 
 
 When in vacation 'mong these balls 
 
 By making everything that crawls, 
 
 Or creeps, or flies, or swims, or walks, 
 That whistles, hisses, shrieks, or talks. 
 
 Of course, our fellows were arornd, 
 
 And joined the crowd, in which they found 
 Congenial sport in letting out 
 The life from flesh that moved about.
 
 136 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And still the loafers changed their plans: 
 Came wondrous beings from their hands; 
 Ugly, uncouth, in curious shapes, 
 Till near the last they made the apes. 
 These, like themselves, forever try 
 To make more apes; the reason why: 
 So loafer-like have they become, 
 I blush to think what they have done. 
 And then the loafers made a change 
 Which reached the limit of their range; 
 Now the plastic life they mold 
 With ruthless fingers and presumption bold; 
 
 They have of life a thing evolved 
 So like themselves, the creature vainly tries 
 To worship something; with uplifted eyes, 
 
 Looks into vacancy, as if 'twould even search 
 For some one seated on a lofty perch. 
 
 "When this our fellows saw, so full of wit, 
 They got a demon on the perch to sit. 
 
 See how they worship him ; his anger to appease, 
 With eager hands now some one else they seize, 
 And kill him! Oh, but we have been 
 A source of trouble to the good unseen ! 
 
 See how they vainly try, they know not what. 
 Why thus inclined are they? What foolish act 
 Of our old chums this folly to permit? 
 Knowing, as well as they do, we no longer sit 
 In darkness and despair within the gruesome pit. 
 Now had it only been that some one else rebelled, 
 And he, as I now am, had been expelled ; 
 And I, as in the past, still heaven's legions led ; 
 Think you such folly had been charged my head? 
 No, mark this head! you never found mistake 
 Or anything that might it underrate
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 137 
 
 When I you led. And mark this head ! 
 
 Though I with you have dropped, it is not dead. 
 No, mark this head ! for it did wisdom sup 
 Where God got his, out of the selfsame cup. 
 
 When I the heavens searched, I found the spring 
 
 Whence wisdom flows ; now I know everything. 
 And though I must admit sin's dead'ning power, 
 And feel its numbing influence this hour, 
 
 Does it affect us only? It is weak'ning He 
 
 Who boasting claims omnipotent to be. 
 
 Witness what He has said, what He has done, 
 On that small planet, 'neath the blazing sun. 
 
 For when Jehovah saw those things, he stood 
 
 And said that all were very good. 
 
 So good, he took some apelike men 
 And shut them up into a pen, 
 
 And there into their nostrils breathed 
 
 The Breath of Life which we received ; 
 At least, they in the pen were found, 
 Though made when we were not around. 
 
 The rest I have no doubt you know ; 
 
 I do not wish my horn to blow. 
 
 "And now these lovely things, he says, 
 Will bruise my head in course of days. 
 
 Well, I suppose that means a fight, 
 
 Which will exhaust his nerve and might. 
 No doubt he means to keep their love, 
 That he seems to prize above 
 
 All else. Well, if he wants it sure, 
 
 Can he their filth and shame endure? 
 
 I fooled them when their hearts were pure; 
 Now shall their apelike passions rise, 
 Most loathsome underneath the skies. 
 
 Yes ; if he tries to love that crowd, 
 
 See that their passions smell aloud.
 
 J38 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 No beast more beastly e'er shall live, 
 
 Than this to whom our life he gave; 
 No swinish herd love filth so well, 
 They in the heart of men could dwell. 
 
 But should he choose such things for love, 
 
 Mark what I said of all above. 
 Surely the wheels of Fate are turning; 
 . In every heart foul hate is burning; 
 
 And a change is coming o'er 
 
 The Godhead, which we did adore. 
 But if 'tis rottenness he wants, 
 That lovely pair shall furnish haunts 
 
 Of vice, of infamy and shame, 
 
 At present difficult to name. 
 For I foresee how strong a pull 
 Their inwardness a powerful tool 
 
 In proper hands; and here they are 
 
 Millions too many for that star. 
 Millions too many can that pair 
 E'er propagate, or earth ever bear; 
 
 More spirits than we can impress 
 
 With demon shapes and filthy dress. 
 Were all the planets that now circle round 
 The flaming stars, with which the heavens abound, 
 
 To teem with life, as long as life can last 
 
 Upon such changing surfaces; when such time 
 
 was past, 
 
 Had all said life have lived as mammals do, 
 Would their vast aggregate outnumber you? 
 
 No, no; the third of heaven 
 
 Numbers much more than thus would life b<- 
 given. 
 
 "So now, ye demons, mark me well; 
 Ye chosen ones, the pick of hell ;
 
 DEATH AND THE) REPORTER. 139 
 
 Ye volunteers, so proud of face; 
 
 I shall expect your work to trace 
 On every soul that you send here. 
 Stamp them before they reach the bier; 
 
 Brand them with features of your own ; 
 
 Who sees the work, the artist's known. 
 You know how well He has loved you 
 Make them so He will hate them, too ; 
 Now that is all you have to do. 
 
 Hatred is what you want to nurse 
 
 'Twixt man and God ; 'twill bring the curse ; 
 Make them like us; make them like me; 
 His love then baffled we shall see. 
 
 "Now I know I might surmise 
 
 And guess his plan, and appear most wise. 
 But I openly admit 
 I can not see how he can sit 
 
 On Justice's throne, and have a plan 
 
 For salvation of the man. 
 And I venture to assert 
 And I have scanned with mind alert 
 
 There is no plan. 
 God can not sit upon the throne 
 And save the man. No ; he must groan 
 
 Forever and ever, just like us. 
 
 Then how it puzzles me this muss. 
 Something I tell you now is near; 
 Something that doth not yet appear; 
 
 Something no index of the past 
 
 Alludes to, and no shadow's cast 
 By anything that e'er has been 
 Ah! what can be Jehovah's dream? 
 
 A God who is the sinners' friend! 
 
 However can the matter end ?
 
 I4O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 It can not be that he will try 
 To cleanse this Adam ere he die; 
 
 And all the little sinners born, 
 
 To bring them safely through the storm. 
 His plan this surely can not be; 
 But we will have to wait and see. 
 
 But if he tries that foolish plan, 
 
 And should succeed he never can 
 But if he should succeed; what then? 
 Still, they would all be ruined men; 
 
 For Adam has the old law torn; 
 
 The others must be sinners born. 
 The more I think upon this thing, 
 A creeping tremor does it bring 
 
 That he the broken law may mend, 
 
 God something desperate does intend. 
 He has really staked his throne, 
 And this thing can not leave alone; 
 
 Even though he would. There is a law 
 
 Even God must keep without a flaw. 
 It holds us all on even ground; 
 In the same category found 
 
 Are we. And mark me, devils, when I say 
 
 There is something near to-day; 
 Something meant to us surprise. 
 Now let us watch how hard he tries ; 
 
 Let us fool him, that we will; 
 
 To fool us is beyond his skill. 
 The worst he can do can not make us worse 
 Than we are now; there is no other curse 
 
 Can fall on us than what to us is known; 
 
 So he might just as well leave us alone. 
 It is not so with him who is on top; 
 He always has a chance to drop.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 141 
 
 If this Fall to his glory should redound, 
 In Godhead love of ruin must be found. 
 
 But the wheels of Fate are turning, 
 
 In every heart foul hate is burning. 
 
 That was my dream when in the dazzling light 
 I saw his glory, guessed his source of might. 
 
 "Power ! Thou art everything ! 
 
 How would I make heaven ring, 
 
 Had I almighty arms to swing! 
 
 Would ever my words me enthrall 
 As now his have? No, not at all. 
 
 I'd drive creation to the wall, 
 Nor suffer loss. 
 
 All things before me low should crawl; 
 I'd know no cross. 
 
 Strength would be Justice then. 
 
 Might will be Virtue when 
 I am boss. 
 
 And let me tell you some such plan 
 
 Is the only way to save the man. 
 
 For if he tries his word to save, 
 He must riot like a brave ; 
 
 He must smash creation vast, 
 
 Till he alone, as in the past, 
 
 Exists ; his memory must not persist, 
 But swim with vagaries and mist. 
 
 Yes ; to experience he must charge 
 
 His whole creation vast and large; 
 
 Minds, matters, forces, laws and fates, 
 All must be left without the gates, 
 
 And God alone must sit in state; 
 
 Not triune, to recriminate; 
 
 But fearful, awfully alone, 
 
 With neither Spirit nor with Son, 
 
 But just as at first when he begun.
 
 142 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 "Now I suppose that you may think 
 I'm making much of little stink; 
 
 But surely, as my mind is clear, 
 It truly doth to me appear, 
 And you can see the reason why 
 Either man or God must die; 
 
 Or else the laws must be erased, 
 On which the throne of God is based; 
 And some dispensation new, 
 Which never will to truth prove true, 
 
 Must be essayed. 
 
 Not since to me the first of time 
 My own existence first did chime, 
 
 Have I delayed, 
 
 But thought, and tried hard to forecast 
 What bears the future by the past. 
 
 I give it up. 
 
 Now r we will have to wait and see 
 What his future course shall be. 
 
 Slow or abrupt. 
 
 But there is one thing that we can do: 
 To hell and hate we can prove true. 
 And those microbes on the ball, 
 Those things which on its surface crawl. 
 The crowning choice of His great love, 
 Partners of Him who rules above 
 We will train them for their home, 
 Where He rules the great alone; 
 Make them fit presents for the King 
 When home he chooses them to bring. 
 
 "Now I suppose some will be there 
 Who may escape the apelike snare ; 
 For God breathed the same breath in man 
 He breathed in us ere time began.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 143 
 
 In us, and all who of our kind 
 
 Are emanations of his mind. 
 And this whatever name you call it 
 This breath of life, who can enthrall it? 
 
 Who thinks that he can blot it out, 
 
 Is but a fool beyond a doubt. 
 This soul, though tangled by the flesh, 
 Will surely tr}^ and break the mesh, 
 
 And will aspire to soar on high, 
 
 And more than fleshly lusts will try. 
 Now, when you find one of this kind, 
 Aspiring, and of noble mind, 
 
 See that you furnish him a theme, 
 
 And get him working on some scheme. 
 You know their minds are just like ours 
 In some degree, with feebler powers; 
 
 So, then, what pleases me and you 
 
 Is liable to suit them, too. 
 So I would not feel surprise, 
 Should ambition in them rise. 
 
 Well, if it does, see that you train, 
 
 And make comparison their aim. 
 Their highest aim to be on top; 
 On all the rest to have the drop ; 
 
 Just like the I Am to be; 
 
 All others under them to see. 
 And not so much that they may rise, 
 Except 'tis in their neighbors' eyes ; 
 
 But that on others they may frown, 
 
 And keep the other fellows down. 
 
 "Now, an idea does me strike 
 Which yet may lead to many a fight: 
 Suppose each daughter born to Eve, 
 Filled with vain pride her bosom heave, 
 Their every baby make believe
 
 144 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 He was the greatest ever born; 
 
 Would not many a heart be torn? 
 
 And many a one would bite the dust, 
 When grown to manhood, fight he must, 
 
 Or prove their mothers liars are 
 
 That will make a lively star. 
 
 Yes, there will be lovely times 
 Murder, rapine and horrid crimes. 
 
 But I need not tell you 
 
 Everything you have to do; 
 
 Your essence is essential mind; 
 Your prey is of another kind. 
 
 The enemies with whom you fight 
 
 Are 'neath you far in mental might, 
 And a prey of them to make 
 Would very little scheming take. 
 
 If they were only left alone, 
 
 How easily we could bring them home. 
 If no one saves them from their sin, 
 How easily we will rake them in. 
 
 "Now I wonder if He will 
 
 Let the angels try their skill 
 
 At helping man out of this muddle 
 I would fool them and befuddle. 
 
 Have not we seen them in the past, 
 
 Ere ever sunlight shadow cast? 
 
 Before a star was swung in space, 
 Or matter found a resting place? 
 
 When matters now condensed in star 
 
 Were most ethereal as we are; 
 
 Saw we the angelic minds essay 
 Centers of gravitation once to weigh, 
 
 And figure out where stars should be, 
 
 Where even mists we scarce could see.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 145 
 
 Saw we not then how subtle mind 
 
 Made gravitation claim its kind; 
 And yet no vacuum leave in space, 
 Though of gross matter scarce a trace. 
 
 Then did we see how laws sublime 
 
 Set matter whirling true to time; 
 As still, by angel minds imprest, 
 No particle can ever rest. 
 
 Saw we not then each whirling mass 
 
 Into some kind of system pass; 
 Forced so by laws which He ordains, 
 Whose every wish His word obtains; 
 
 At least, till on that little ball 
 
 His word did He himself enthrall 
 Which we suppose. Then we have seen 
 Commingling masses flame; between 
 
 Their elements a mass of fire 
 
 Blaze till no change do they desire; 
 Then cool and form the solid ground, 
 Such as upon the earth is found. 
 
 This we have seen, and further still: 
 
 Life we have seen obey their will; 
 No longer moved by flashing flame, 
 But moved by life, true to its name. 
 
 Yes; we have seen, though strange to state, 
 
 Life moving the inanimate. 
 Yes; these angels seemed to ape 
 Him who usurps the power of Fate, 
 
 And dared to make a living thing; 
 
 Dared more suffering to bring; 
 Dared to make a living cell, 
 When life means misery to tell. 
 
 Yes; this we saw, and saw how bold 
 
 Success their energies extolled. 
 
 10
 
 146 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And saw we then what curious shapes 
 
 Their dreams, the plastic life cell makes; 
 To live and die, and live again, 
 The living germs shall still remain. 
 
 Until at last the Master mind, 
 
 Not wishing to be left behind, 
 
 Pronounced all good, and made those things 
 Which consternation nearly brings. 
 
 Breathed in their nostrils breath like ours. 
 
 Stand aghast! ye injured Powers. 
 
 And then you know what ruin wrought 
 Your humble servant by me brought. 
 
 "This we have seen; but what is next? 
 
 With what now is the future vexed? 
 So many things there are to puzzle, 
 It might be wise my mouth to muzzle. 
 
 What is the part we have to play? 
 
 That is the question of the day. 
 If the angels carry on 
 The work as they have done so long, 
 
 Our part will be with them to fight, 
 
 And run creation into night. 
 
 Who fought against them in the past, 
 That no work of theirs should last? 
 
 Who was it spoiled full many a plan, 
 
 As starry mist together ran? 
 
 Who was it when on cooling ground 
 
 The then strange life cells first were found? 
 
 Who was it forced them back again 
 
 To matter dead, as dead as when 
 
 No angel life enlivened them? 
 
 And who it was, grown bolder still, 
 When energy braced the angels' will, 
 
 To cause these cells to procreate 
 
 Who was it, fired by sullen Fate,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 147 
 
 Made death, although abhorred by all, 
 The pit in which each one must fall? 
 
 So well did we this power enforce, 
 
 Nature seemed to then indorse. 
 
 In fact, so natural did it seem, 
 
 I feared our work was but the scheme 
 
 Of Him, the fount of wisdom's stream; 
 
 And in strange keeping with the mode 
 
 Of birth and death of their abode. 
 
 And when I saw that beastlike God, 
 Our spirit, clothed in flesh and blood, 
 
 I thought we surely had been fooled 
 
 That He our work had overruled; 
 
 So that, what most we feared would come, 
 Our brains had toiled to get it done. 
 
 A procreating bestial spirit 
 
 Meant much to us, I could not bear it. 
 
 And then, you know what I have done: 
 
 I have outmatched the Holy One; 
 
 At least, o'erthrown what he has done. 
 
 "But what is next? Do we now fight 
 
 With Him, the source of power and might 
 Or with the angels face to face, 
 Strive for the prize, the human race? 
 
 I wonder if this Breath of Life 
 
 In man will also join the strife, 
 
 And claim o'er matter the same power 
 As we and angels have this hour? 
 
 Think you as spirits they will find 
 
 How matter does obey the mind? 
 
 Or will their will power be confined 
 Unto the flesh of their own kind? 
 
 Or will the beastly so enthrall, 
 
 That they will have no power at all ;
 
 148 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But with their fingers and their feet, 
 Matter with only matter greet; 
 
 And then, as knowledge fades away, 
 
 Back to the beastly further stray? 
 That is one way; but of course 
 I may guess on till I am hoarse. 
 
 Yet we may venture to surmise 
 
 In some such line their pathway lies. 
 And if it should how will He keep 
 Knowledge of truth in things so sweet? 
 
 For mark me, Godhead can not dwell 
 
 Where I cause mankind to smell. 
 
 They shall live as beasts of prey, 
 Murder and war for sport and play; 
 
 They shall devour the form divine, 
 
 The carcass that their souls entwine. 
 They shall hate Him as a race, 
 And fling their curses in His face. 
 
 His name shall grace the flippant tongue, 
 
 And be a byword for them among. 
 
 I think I know what He can stand 
 Before He quits and leaves the land; 
 
 And I will see that quit He shall, 
 
 So we may riot on the ball. 
 
 "O man ! puny man ! 
 
 Sad is the breaking of thy dawn; 
 But who knows what thy end shall be, 
 Bound up with so much mystery? 
 
 Who knows? One is who claims He does; 
 
 But claims He to have made this muss? 
 What I should really like to know 
 Is how He means the truth to grow? 
 
 How from the father to the son 
 
 The knowledge of the truth shall run?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 149 
 
 How He intends to keep truth pure; 
 How they shall know what's said is sure. 
 
 Truth's hard to tell from fallacy 
 
 When it is handled carelessly. 
 Now catch a glimmering, if you can, 
 The lines we fight with God and man. 
 
 He has permitted, if you please, 
 
 Deception base to win with ease; 
 He is committed to that plan; 
 Now see if he can save a man. 
 
 Yes; 'What is truth?' shall they not ask, 
 
 And vainly question all the past; 
 
 Vainly the future shall forecast. 
 If we on equal ground with those 
 Who now are proud to call us foes, 
 
 Fight on the earth, and our sweet prey 
 
 Will swallow everything we say, 
 And everything coming in their mind 
 Take for a truth of some new kind, 
 
 We must prepare for them a mess, 
 
 And serve it up in stylish dress ; 
 Something to desecrate the mind, 
 And make the inner eyesight blind. 
 
 But should the other side essay 
 
 To try the truth upon our prey, 
 Leave that to me, and see if I 
 Can get my finger in the pie. 
 
 I will arrange at any rate 
 
 So they must not investigate 
 Too close, for truth and all reality 
 Have been my speciality; 
 
 And all its genuflections, 
 
 Involutions and deflections, 
 From the slightest variation 
 To the absolute negation 
 I know every sensation;
 
 150 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And what I am not sure about 
 
 I can very soon find out. 
 When on that ball the race will start, 
 When from all truth the race will part; 
 
 When in the race 'tween God and devil, 
 
 For the race who, filled with evil, 
 Keep sliding down into the pit 
 Where omnipotent we sit; 
 
 Think you that race the truth would know 
 
 If even any one would go 
 And truth for them exemplify? 
 Or think you any one would try 
 
 And live the truth? Do not forget 
 
 I will blind Jehovah's pet, 
 Till what is truth shall seem as wrong, 
 And self shall mount each human throne. 
 
 No longer for the good of all, 
 
 Truth works upon that little ball; 
 But falsehood tells each one a lie, 
 And says the greatest one am I; 
 
 And me all others should obey, 
 
 And haste to do whate'er I say. 
 
 "Let us work up some such a scheme, 
 Then discord and ruin shall be seen. 
 
 Or if some of them should combine, 
 
 Exalt some big I for a time, 
 And him they all praise and adore, 
 And say, "Be king for evermore"; 
 
 Some other combine soon shall rise 
 
 And lift another to the skies, 
 And praise him as the lord of all, 
 And want him, too, to rule the ball; 
 Then in the struggle who shall fall? 
 
 They shall those reckon by per cent., 
 
 Who from the earth for glory went.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 151 
 
 Yes ; falsehood is the game we play ; 
 Falsehood shall surely win the day; 
 
 And blasted truth shall never grow, 
 
 Where I it try to overthrow. 
 And the truth shall feel so strange 
 Where the brood of Adam range, 
 
 It must wander in disguise, 
 
 Where we flaunt our flaming lies. 
 If ever it dare raise its head 
 It must be strangled until dead 
 
 Absolutely rooted out 
 
 Will not then the victors shout? 
 That is the game at which we play, 
 And triumph surely will some day. 
 
 "Yet there is something we must not disguise; 
 
 Something to which we must not shut our eyes. 
 In cycles all Jehovah sits and rules 
 By ministers, who are his pliant tools. 
 
 Even when the conflict raged around the throne, 
 
 Did he the battle undertake alone? 
 
 Or victory gain by massing two to one? 
 But now upon that little ball, 
 Creation barely did precede the Fall; 
 
 Scarce did he the Breath of Life impart, 
 
 Before I ruined it by hellish art; 
 No sooner did he spirit life enthrone, 
 But I appeared and claimed it as my own. 
 
 There were no underlings to blame that time; 
 
 The only minds at work were his and mine. 
 And think you now I myself flatter? 
 'Twixt me and God this is a private matter. 
 
 On this I figured long ere time began, 
 
 And this I watched for as the ages ran. 
 This is the prelude to the winding-up 
 Of his or my plans; then a bitter cup
 
 153 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Some one must drink. Who ? That is the ques- 
 tion now 
 
 On which we ponder, and which knits our brow. 
 He claims wrong can be righted, once 'tis done; 
 I claim wrong rules forever every one 
 
 Who touches it, or dreams an evil thing; 
 
 Like poison it must spread and ruin bring. 
 This is the ground on which our forces meet ; 
 Man is a trifle in the balance sheet. 
 
 This is the final clinch of right and wrong, 
 
 Who wins shall mount the universal throne. 
 Watch the death struggle, final is the loss; 
 Who loses now must mount the shameful cross. 
 
 "But was I fooled when dreaming in the light, 
 Ere time began, or we experienced night? 
 
 I dreamed if ever there was sin, 
 
 It must envelop and triumphant win 
 
 All; everything that is, or was, or shall, 
 Or ever may exist all sure must fall 
 Into the gorge of sin. 
 
 Had He possessed the power to prevent, 
 
 Surely 'twere better thus He had it spent. 
 
 But no; sin's time had come by the decree of 
 
 Fate, 
 
 Goodness has slowly rotted from that date, 
 And shall until it is obliterate. 
 
 That gives us heart, that makes the victory sure; 
 
 That nerves us every hardship to endure; 
 
 If there are hardships with such vict'ry near 
 Times we will have which do not yet appear. 
 
 Surely 'tis better thus to fight, 
 
 Than languish ever in the night. 
 
 "I saw two comrades once, who long had lain 
 Without a move upon the azure plain;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 153 
 
 One turned round, the other rose and went 
 Where atoms were by gravitation sent 
 
 In whirling masses. Round he saw them go 
 Until a system moved majestic, slow. 
 He saw them blaze, and cool, and form the ground, 
 And air, and water, as they whirled round. 
 
 He saw life start, and thrive, and change, and 
 
 die, 
 
 And many transformations 'neath the sky; 
 Saw generations come and generations go, 
 Saw families, and groups, and species flow ; 
 Until too cold, the lifeless balls did roll 
 A frozen cemetery; no living soul 
 Looked on the central orb, which now was dim, 
 Yet teemed with life kept by the heat within. 
 
 At last that also cooled; when all were dead, 
 He nothing found to interest his head; 
 And so returning, saw upon the plain 
 His comrade just then turning back again. 
 
 "Shall we thus ever and forever wait 
 And languish, waiting the decree of Fate? 
 
 Or clinch with the Almighty, and thus hasten on 
 
 Fate's ukase, saying, 'Sin must mount the throne'? 
 I choose the latter. You, my comrades true, 
 
 Have shown a temper of the truest blue. 
 
 So now, to work ; deep counsel every move ; 
 
 Never may I your carelessness reprove; 
 
 But tireless, waiting, weigh each hellish scheme, 
 And cause this ancient countenance to beam. 
 
 As generations come and generations go, 
 
 Experience grows with us, not with our foe 
 At least, our foes on earth; and He on high 
 Sees future, past and present with His eye.
 
 154 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Well, well, see if he does. Comrades, to arms again ! 
 Our ancient home awaits the victors, but the slain 
 Are lost, and lost forever; say amen, amen." 
 
 He finished, and then took his seat. 
 
 No uproar did the silence greet; 
 
 No wild applause, no stamping feet. 
 All felt the hour of fate had come; 
 Each felt that something must be done; 
 And schemes well laid are halfway won. 
 
 They with each other counsel take; 
 
 Some criticise, and some suggestions make; 
 Some thought it would proper be 
 To elect a committee, 
 
 With power to act; who would report, 
 
 And make suggestions of some sort. 
 Some thought 'twas all uncertain yet, 
 And we had better wait a bit. 
 
 Some thought 'twas best the old Mogul 
 
 Should run the brain work through his skull ; 
 And as we talked the matter o'er, 
 This met approval more and more. 
 
 There was no motion worth the name, 
 
 Yet it was understood the same. 
 So it has been from then till now, 
 The plans have gone through Satan's brow ; 
 
 The general plan, and most details 
 
 That cause such groans and bitter wails 
 Each has his scrutiny surveyed, 
 By his approval been essayed. 
 
 Ill it has fared with Adam's race, 
 
 Sin has a stamp on every face. 
 His oldest boy steeped his hands 
 In brother's blood, then foreign lands
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER- 15$ 
 
 His features saw. But oh, since then 
 What carnage men have wrought with men! 
 
 What animal so fond of gore 
 
 That its own relatives it tore, 
 
 As much as have the human race, 
 Spurred on by Satan's cunning face? 
 
 He spurred them on; they grew so bad, 
 
 Once we did think the Godhead had 
 
 Drowned out the race. He left a seed, 
 And saved his throne just saved, indeed. 
 
 We thought we had the vict'ry won; 
 
 We thought sin's triumph had begun; 
 But no, the rolling wheels of Time 
 Had only reached a place to chime; 
 
 Only reached a place to strike 
 
 The hour, the darkest of the night 
 
 Then on they rolled. And then a race 
 God separated by his grace. 
 
 He severed them from nations round, 
 
 As if his glory to expound. 
 
 He set them up, and gave them laws 
 Which, Satan says, abound with flaws ; 
 
 And whispered to them of the plan 
 
 He had for saving sinful man; 
 
 And wished to rule them all alone 
 A nation ruled from heaven's throne. 
 
 But ah ! how we rebellion planned ; 
 
 What revolutions marred the land; 
 
 Satan was always close at hand. 
 
 He said : "This is the battle ground 
 Defeat or victory here is found." 
 
 Ill fared it with the favored race, 
 
 'Twixt demon power and God's free grace. 
 They many a time were put to rout, 
 And once we thought to blot them out;
 
 156 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 But when he saved them, such a mess 
 Of gratitude their souls confess; 
 
 Ill-savored pride their sins conceal; 
 
 Ill-savored pride their thoughts reveal. 
 Did ever nation worse than this? 
 Their record makes the heathen hiss. 
 
 So much for Satan's dext'rous hand; 
 
 He was the ruler of the land. 
 But oh, the plan within the plan! 
 The plan was working to save man. 
 
 Whether 'twas demon skill that traced, 
 
 Or greedy man the bauble chased, 
 God's plan worked on; God's plans are one 
 With every plan beneath the sun, 
 
 And where no sun did ever blaze; 
 
 Plans hatched in hell are for God's praise. 
 
 And so in fullness of the time 
 Another hour commenced to chime.' 
 At midnight on Judea's plains 
 An angel burst the visual chains 
 Of shepherds, watching by their flock, 
 And unto fleshy ears he spoke; 
 
 Told them of the redeeming One, 
 Told of the birth of God's own Son. 
 Quick round the earth the tidings flew, 
 Quailed every heart soon as they knew, 
 And many questioned if 'twas true. 
 
 Doubts do not stop the plans of God, 
 Neither do sneers block up his road. 
 The time had come as was announced; 
 Yes, God has come, Satan pronounced; 
 
 Then all his knowledge brought to bear 
 Oh, what a fearful oath to swear!
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 157 
 
 Then all his malice was incensed, 
 And all his cunning was condensed. 
 
 But who can fight with the I Am? 
 
 Can angel, devil, beast or man? 
 
 When we first tried then fools began. 
 Once Satan tried the baby to kill, 
 But found the task beyond his skill; 
 
 For He who dwells in brightest light 
 
 Sees blackest plans in darkest night; 
 And strong ones, ne'er by sin made groan, 
 Were watching round that baby throne. 
 
 Even Satan grinned, and said 
 
 He knew he could not touch the babe; 
 But wait until he is of age, 
 And in his bosom passions rage, 
 
 If he be man, temptation's power 
 
 Will overthrow in evil hour; 
 For sin ingrained is in the race 
 In every baby finds a place. 
 
 It lurks in every childish heart, 
 
 His mother must the seed impart. 
 If he be God well, then, who cares; 
 Is He come to examine human snares? 
 
 Perhaps He's come on a brief sojourn 
 
 Just to see what He can learn. 
 Well, that is right; just let Him come; 
 All incognito let Him roam, 
 
 Like this he spoke. Who did believe? 
 
 Satan spoke thus who to deceive? 
 Deceived he us? Death's bitter cup 
 Was easier taken not one sup. 
 
 Quite well we knew, full well 'twas known, 
 
 What makes us fight despair alone.
 
 158 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Yes, 'tis despair rules in my heart; 
 
 No ray can any hope impart. 
 
 Was it a ray that tried to thrill, 
 Or the vibrations of a chill 
 
 That through me crept, when once I knew 
 
 That God on earth we now could view ? 
 It was not hope ; no, 'twas despair, 
 Longer had crushed than we could bear, 
 
 So any change, e'en for the worse, 
 
 Seemed welcome, giving chance to curse 
 The day I lived, the first of time, 
 When first I felt the breath divine. 
 
 Or could it be good, lingering still 
 
 In me, accepts the Father's will? 
 
 No, 'tis the worst! I want the worst 
 His fiat damning, hating, cursed. 
 
 Oh ! could I only cease exist ; 
 
 Could I escape, and ne'er be missed. 
 
 But no; 'tis memory drags me down, 
 And I am here from foot to crown. 
 
 'Twas thus I felt, when wandering round, 
 
 My duties brought me near the ground 
 Where He on earth his palace made, 
 With scarce a place to lay His head. 
 
 Fearful, as something in me quailed, 
 
 I thought to see Him nearly failed; 
 
 Then forced myself; and so one night 
 I watched a lake by starry light. 
 
 I saw a boat far out at sea, 
 
 That boat had interest for me; 
 
 Though He I looked for was not there, 
 Yet they His fellowship did share. 
 
 Could I tell you how spirits feel, 
 
 Yet even I might try conceal
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 159 
 
 How strange I felt, when down the hill 
 I saw Him come. His sovereign will 
 
 Moved as a man. No zephyr bore 
 
 The God-man; no, he did not soar; 
 But as a common man walked he, 
 Till close beside the crystal sea. 
 
 He did not stop, nor say one word, 
 
 His will resist it 'tis absurd; 
 
 Old Gravitation knew his Lord, 
 
 And knelt, and worshiped, and adored. 
 
 The ripples haste to kiss his feet, 
 
 Then melt into the crystal deep; 
 
 The zephyrs with his garments play, 
 Then hushed in silence, haste away. 
 
 He used the waters as a road, 
 
 While Nature worshiped him as God. 
 
 How quickly from that place I stole 
 
 I had to liberate a soul 
 From earthly clay ; my help they need ; 
 So off I went with utmost speed. 
 
 Yes, back I rushed; back rushed I there, 
 
 And nevermore to see him swear. 
 But when we swear, and when we say, 
 A little if is in the way; 
 
 The will of Him whose word is law, 
 
 Can we that will bend with our jaw? 
 If our words conflict with His, 
 Our oaths will surely come amiss. 
 
 And so it proved with me that time; 
 
 His will conflicted sore with mine. 
 For by what power I can not tell 
 His power all other powers excel, 
 
 And embrace all so by what force 
 
 I from my oath soon found divorce,
 
 l6o DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 I can not tell. It was not I, 
 'Twas not my will caused me to fly 
 But by an unseen force compelled, 
 My will in me completely quelled. 
 
 We went by orders from the throne. 
 
 All, all were there; yes, every one, 
 
 From hell's dark gloom, from 'neath the sun, 
 
 From heaven's heights, from the abyss, 
 
 The all-engulfing bounds of space. 
 Even those were there who when they fell, 
 To outer darkness flew, 
 
 Their only hope, their only aim, 
 
 All others to eschew. 
 From everything they fled, 
 
 From self they could not fly; 
 And vainly wished they could, 
 
 But dreamed not they could die. 
 What eons thus they spent alone, alone, alone, 
 With watchful eye intent to guard each secret zone. 
 Did ever light they see, or thought that it they saw, 
 Away, away they sped, as if to evade law. 
 But there the law of death, there the law of doom, 
 Was with each spirit there, in each sequestered tomb. 
 Despair and frenzy there, no love, all else besides, 
 They were, as you would say, angelic suicides. 
 
 We all were there, yes, every one 
 
 Above the embryo grade of man. 
 We all were there and marshaled, each in his place stood 
 
 still ; 
 Earth never had seen such a crowd as gazed upon that 
 
 hill. 
 We all were there and marshaled, sent there by the 
 
 I Am, 
 Who there might yet be visible the only God and 
 
 man.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. l6l 
 
 'Twas round a place called Golgotha, we centered back 
 
 and back, 
 
 And further and still further, with angel powers intact. 
 I can not tell you how we saw, but every one could 
 
 see, 
 
 Every created spirit, free-willed like you and me. 
 But there was nothing we could see nothing that could 
 
 be seen 
 To interest a crowd like ours. Why not now raise the 
 
 screen ? 
 No; still they keep us waiting, waiting in silence 
 
 there ; 
 Some wrapt in awe and reverence, and some in deep 
 
 despair. 
 
 But there we all stood waiting ; held by that subtle force 
 Which brought us there, and held us, and our own wills 
 
 divorce. 
 
 Did ever Roman Emperor keep waiting such a crowd 
 As did that poor Procurator, who talked to God 
 
 aloud ? 
 
 Did ever Roman army hold such a crowd at bay, 
 As did the mocking soldiers, who were on guard that day ? 
 But there they kept us waiting, angels and seraphim, 
 All waiting, breathless waiting, to catch a glimpse of 
 
 Him 
 Of Him who made the scene that day, of Him, the only 
 
 God, 
 
 Whose blood would trickle down that day, and stain the 
 earth and sod. 
 
 Yes ; there we all stood waiting, watching the pass- 
 
 ersby ; 
 And sometimes from the city we thought we heard 
 
 a cry. 
 
 There we all stood waiting till well the sun had climbed, 
 And then toward the city gate was every head inclined; 
 11
 
 l62 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 For there was a commotion, excitement on the road 
 A crowd of men, not worshipers, attending on their 
 
 God. 
 
 There in that crowd came Satan excited was no name 
 
 The way he looked was terrible, dejected, most insane. 
 
 And there I saw the Mighty One, stagg'ring 'neath 
 
 the load 
 That crushed him, crushed him to the earth the 
 
 only living God. 
 
 In vain the soldiers goad him, his steps were feebly slow ; 
 Was it the weight upon his heart, the weight of sin and 
 
 woe? 
 Or was it but the wooden cross, just as the soldiers 
 
 thought ? 
 For soon they seize a passerby, by whom the cross 
 
 was brought. 
 
 But if his body now was weak, his Godhead still re- 
 mained, 
 
 For soon to weeping women words of wisdom he de- 
 claimed. 
 Self is not with the great I Am as 'tis with you 
 
 and me; 
 
 The great vast all is self to him all have his sym- 
 pathy. 
 The one disturbing thing is sin, that his wrath must 
 
 endure ; 
 That makes another god than he, and self the name is 
 
 sure. 
 And then they led him to the place, along with 
 
 other two 
 Who for their crimes were there to die; he was to 
 
 die for you. 
 They brought him to our very midst, the center of the 
 
 throng, 
 The center of that waiting crowd, waiting there so long.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 163 
 
 Not long they kept us waiting. They offered them 
 
 strong drink 
 To stupefy their mortal powers, so that they scarce 
 
 could think. 
 
 'Twas then I noticed Satan, his eyes were all aflame. 
 Deep, deep the thieves drank of the cup; Christ tasted 
 
 of the same, 
 And then refused it. Satan stood as stands a cur 
 
 just whipped ; 
 Another scheme had failed, another plan in the bud 
 
 is nipped. 
 
 Oh, could I tell you how we felt ! Call us a breathless 
 
 crowd ; 
 What tremors ran throughout our throng! Yet no one 
 
 spake aloud. 
 For now the soldiers seize a man, one of those living 
 
 three ; 
 They throw him down, they stretch him out upon 
 
 that cursed tree; 
 With fearful clinch one seized his hand and stretched it 
 
 on the wood, 
 
 While with a hammer and a nail another ready stood. 
 Down comes that hammer! What a shriek! How 
 
 he did curse and swear! 
 While ever at the Paschal Lamb, how Satan's eyes 
 
 did stare. 
 But not a murmur crossed his lips. Saw he the vast 
 
 unseen 
 Who watched him there those myriad eyes, some good, 
 
 some filled with spleen. 
 They clinched that hand upon the cross, convulsions 
 
 shook his frame; 
 
 They stretch the other arm out, and nail that hand 
 the same.
 
 164 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Convulsive twists contort that form, how he his hands 
 did tear! 
 
 What gasping groans ! teeth chattering yells ; what horrid 
 oaths to swear! 
 
 While ever at the Son of God, how Satan's eyes did 
 glare ! 
 
 But, ah! that face (who can describe!) no trace showed 
 of despair; 
 
 You should have glanced at Satan, though, and seen it 
 
 written there. 
 
 They seize those feet, they hold those legs, the ever- 
 ready nail 
 
 They force through each into the wood, and fearful 
 pain entail. 
 
 They lift him up, the cross and man, the cross slips down 
 the hole; 
 
 A fearful wrench the body jars, most severs from the 
 
 soul. 
 Too much it seemed for human nerves, too much 
 
 for human strength; 
 
 For reason reeled, nearly left her throne, but stag- 
 gered back at length. 
 
 Lifted up high! thus to die! 
 
 A Roman scarecrow ! that is why. 
 A living picture how the throne 
 Of human hearts God calls his own 
 
 Was held by force, was held by fear, 
 
 Where love alone should bind and cheer. 
 Fit was the time a grand display 
 Of Satan's work was made that day; 
 
 Good sample how the race he ruled, 
 
 Since he the race so badly fooled; 
 Great exposition made by sin 
 Where the new era should begin;
 
 A world's fair for the unseen, 
 
 Whom transparency did screen. 
 
 It only screened from mortal eyes, 
 Not from the natives of the skies ; 
 
 For now the legions of the light 
 
 With faces veiled seemed bent on fight. 
 
 They veiled their faces with their wings, 
 For soldiers seize the King of kings. 
 "Now then, O King! thy throne we bring. 
 
 Oh, thou great King! let thine arms swing." 
 So said those Roman gladiators, 
 So jeered those priests, worse than abettors. 
 
 The roughest part of Calvary's road 
 
 Was holding back the word of God; 
 For millions who ne'er disobeyed 
 Were ready when the word was said. 
 
 This knowing, Satan in vain did hope 
 To hear some word in anguish spoke; 
 
 Some word conflicting with His word 
 
 The word of God but how absurd! 
 For chaos, night, confusion, death, 
 Had emanated with that breath; 
 
 And dissolution most complete 
 
 Would every force of Nature greet. 
 Did hope that those who can not die 
 Might cease exist, make Satan try? 
 
 Or was it some such hope as this : 
 "There is no change can come amiss"? 
 It was a desperate game he played, 
 A cruel part that he essayed. 
 
 But vair the hope, and vain the thought 
 
 It glory unto Jesus brought ; 
 For those disgraceful wooden beams 
 Enthroned the glorious King of kings.
 
 l66 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 As regal now as when on high 
 He ruled the millions of the sky; 
 
 His word was royal, till at last 
 
 Victorious over death he passed. 
 
 But shall I tell you, mortal man, 
 
 What no bright angel ever can? 
 They veiled their faces from the light, 
 And gazed not on the horrid sight. 
 
 Can I describe to you His woe? 
 
 Words have you in your language? No. 
 His nerves were never dulled by sin, 
 Decay in Him could ne'er begin, 
 
 Clogged was no avenue of pain 
 
 All was reported to the brain. 
 Then shall I tell you how He made 
 No resistance when they laid 
 
 Had He resisted, ah! what then? 
 
 Angels and devils ! Mortal men ! 
 What and where would now we be, 
 Had Chaos won the victory? 
 
 But no; though laid upon the cross, 
 
 His sovereign will sustained no loss. 
 From the beginning He had known 
 That He for sin should thus atone. 
 
 They nail those hands the soldiers hold; 
 
 And now looked Satan somewhat bold. 
 But vain the hope, if hope was there 
 Delusive hope, a phantom's stare. 
 
 He could those nerves and muscles hold, 
 
 Who for ages all controlled; 
 He was still the Prince of Peace, 
 Fighting hard that sin should cease. 
 
 Was there no struggle? Who can tell? 
 
 We speak of God in earth and hell,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 167 
 
 As if like us He was the same 
 
 How high above, the Godhead plane! 
 
 Was there no struggle? He held back 
 The forces that no power lacked; 
 
 For mighty ones before that day 
 
 Had no such struggle to obey; 
 
 And holy ones, who ne'er before 
 Did aught but worship and adore, 
 
 As Love and Reason fought within, 
 
 Love brought them to the verge of sin. 
 
 But for their King's restraining power, 
 That would have been an awful hour; 
 
 For now the cruel, piercing nail 
 
 Holds fast those feet ne'er known to fail 
 In Duty's path, in Mercy's road 
 The feet of the eternal God. 
 
 Now even Satan stands aghast! 
 
 For, fastened to the wood so fast, 
 
 The soldiers raise the cross, and God 
 The sin of the whole world, a load. 
 
 But now we raise our eyes on high; 
 
 There is a flutter in the sky; 
 
 A tremor in the host of light 
 Are they preparing for the fight? 
 
 The cross slips down. With anguish torn 
 
 Anguish that kills can not be borne 
 
 The Son of God, the Prince of Peace, 
 Gave orders all disturbance cease; 
 
 For His restraining grace that hour 
 
 Could scarce restrain the mighty power 
 
 Of those who loved Him loved so well. 
 What had they done? Ah, who can tell? 
 
 Christ prayed unto his Father true : 
 "Forgive, they know not what they do."
 
 l68 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 They know not what they do, for Hate 
 Is blind, and cursed by cruel Fate. 
 
 Had Satan known, would he have done 
 
 What victory unto Jesus won? 
 
 Scarce had the prayer escaped His lips, 
 Than back each flurried angel slips. 
 That prayer was a relief for some, 
 Though hard to tell what worse could come. 
 But if the powerful ones on high, 
 The righteous spirits of the sky, 
 Suffered with the suffering One, 
 In lower regions there was fun 
 The strutting bipeds of the earth 
 Of suffering God made sport and mirth. 
 Even the very passersby 
 Wagged their heads with some such cry: 
 "Ah, thou temple-building God! 
 The cross for thee was too much load! 
 Take only three days to restore 
 What took us forty years or more! 
 
 Come down, thou mighty Son of God, 
 Forsake the cross and walk the road." 
 Had he listened to that cry, 
 Where now would be this creature, I? 
 
 Scribes, priests and elders had their say, 
 And taunted him in some such way: 
 "He others saved, but can not now 
 Wipe the sweatdrops from His brow. 
 Thou exposed King of Israel, 
 Make thyself invisible; 
 From the wooden cross come down, 
 And we will tremble at thy frown." 
 
 I trembled lest He grant the request, 
 And make reality of the jest.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. lO 
 
 In vain, in vain did Satan try 
 Christ listened to each taunting cry. 
 
 The Sovereign who the world had made, 
 
 Was Sovereign still when all was said. 
 His boundless love upheld His will; 
 Christ was the loving Savior still. 
 
 For though they said, "God is his trust; 
 
 Let Him now His fetters burst; 
 Let some great deliverer come; 
 Surely, He will save His Son!" 
 
 Yet goodness from His features beamed; 
 
 Stronger than anguish, mercy seemed. 
 For when one malefactor railed, 
 "If thou art the Christ, thus nailed, 
 Save thyself and us," 
 
 The other said, "Now justly we 
 
 Suffer on the cursed tree; 
 But what hath this man done? 
 Jesus, when to thy kingdom come, 
 O Lord, remember me !" 
 
 Christ's heart seemed rilled with loving grace 
 
 Godlikeness beamed o'er all His face ; 
 He did not use the words of men, 
 Such as if, or but, or when; 
 
 He used the royal words He brought 
 
 From heaven, which His Father taught. 
 "Truly, thou shalt surely be 
 To-day in Paradise with me." 
 
 Through the legions of the sky 
 
 Ran another tremor. Why? 
 Their golden harps they left behind, 
 And now it flashed upon their mind ; 
 
 But though they held their very breath, 
 
 As still as those who wait on death,
 
 I7O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Heard I as faintest lullaby 
 The choir of heaven in symphony. 
 For He of all the myriads there, 
 On the earth or in the air, 
 He was the only one could say: 
 "Though heaven and earth should pass away, 
 Yet my word will ever stay." 
 
 The dying God now looked around 
 Incarnate mystery profound 
 And saw his mother standing near, 
 With other friends, though none could cheer. 
 The dying man his mother saw, 
 And pattern without a flaw 
 All his affairs he settled up; 
 For many this a bitter cup. 
 
 Then a bright angel in his might 
 Coerced the sunbeams, so the light 
 Streamed not upon the horrid scene, 
 But darkness answered for a screen. 
 This, as Satan has explained, 
 Was rebellion never named; 
 For in his love that angel risked 
 Eternal life ; he might have missed 
 
 His birthright, and with us in hell 
 Forever been condemned to dwell. 
 So Satan says! 
 
 But did He ever speak at all, 
 When the darkness like a pall 
 
 Hung upon the scene? 
 
 It may have been; 
 But if He did, 
 His words were very low and hid. 
 
 I rather think He, like the rest, 
 
 Thought silent policy the best;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1 
 
 Leaving for presumptuous man 
 The consummation of the plan. 
 
 But silently with bated breath 
 
 They watched around that scene of death; 
 For the plan was working well 
 Brought them relief from death and hell. 
 
 No jeering now adds to His pain, 
 
 Slight the display their taunts restrain ; 
 Slight the display of Godlike power 
 That stopped the ribald jest that hour. 
 
 Their work was nearly finished now ; 
 
 Our work was to be finished, how? 
 For who that bears the name of death 
 Could liberate the God-man's breath? 
 
 Three hours we watched in darkness there; 
 
 Three hours of watching and despair; 
 Three hours of thinking but what array 
 Of thoughts crowded 'round the mystery. 
 
 Is all this time and all this space 
 
 This epoch in the eternal race 
 Of all existence only an interlude 
 Of vast eternity? 
 
 To prove that God is love, 
 And that our ancient love can rule 
 All but the veriest fool 
 
 Of free-will creatures? 
 
 To prove in eons yet to come, 
 
 When all of sin's vile race is run; 
 When the recording angel's done 
 With overt acts of sin; 
 
 When the judgment is come and gone 
 
 All reap the seed that they have sown. 
 Eons, yes, eons after that, 
 Should any dare to dream of what
 
 172 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Would happen them should Love release her hold, 
 And something else should make them bold; 
 
 Our record will be found up there, 
 
 Where everything is bright and fair. 
 
 And we we shall be found, oh, where! 
 To warn them of the ghastly snare. 
 
 And this this dying God, 
 
 So helpless in his blood 
 
 The record of this awful day 
 
 Will surely chase the thought away, 
 
 And teach them how to keep 
 
 Love forever pure and sweet. 
 
 O vast eternity! 
 
 Boundless eternity! 
 Not as one day exists all wrong, 
 Compared with thy unending song; 
 
 But ever and as long as thou shalt last, 
 
 This gloomy cross will its shadow cast, 
 
 To mellow and keep each spirit fast 
 In Love's pure chains. 
 
 Is this the reason? Is this why 
 
 The holy Son of God must die? 
 Was it thus, and only thus, 
 God could create spirits like us 
 
 So free we might his love obey; 
 
 So free we even could say 'Nay'? 
 But now Love's awful wrong is seen 
 Sculptured upon that wooden beam. 
 
 When the record is filed away 
 
 Of every phase of sin in clay, 
 Of every phase of sin in spirit 
 What sheet of parchment e'er can bear it? 
 
 When the nothingness of sin 
 
 Is proved so none will try again;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 173 
 
 When Sin's horrid work is done, 
 
 And Truth and Love have victory won; 
 When the blacklist is made out, 
 And they no longer roam about; 
 
 Surely this record then will keep 
 
 Each free-willed creature pure and sweet; 
 Surely our anguish from the deep 
 Will warning toll so none may sleep, 
 And dream, and die, and ever weep. 
 
 For every phase of sin, one there 
 
 The proper punishment will bear, 
 
 With writhing torture and despair. 
 
 This with the record filed on high, 
 Love's wrong will thus exemplify, 
 
 To those who thus will never try 
 
 To dream as Satan did and die. 
 
 Truly, as love does love beget, 
 
 The love that binds in blood and sweat; 
 
 The love that let them crucify 
 
 The Mighty One, that he should die; 
 Will surely touch the human heart, 
 And all our former love impart. 
 
 But how He justice did appease 
 
 How from the penalty release, 
 
 I can not find words to explain, 
 Where thoughts depend on fleshy brain. 
 
 But that He did it satisfy 
 
 Is clear to all beyond the sky. 
 For if the law embodier die, 
 From whom then will the culprit fly? 
 
 That will not do; words will not grasp 
 
 The thoughts that through my mind then passed. 
 Self dies in love when God for love has died 
 The force which bound us all ere Satan lied.
 
 1/4 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 The old, old force which ever bound us 
 To himself and all around us 
 
 Has bound its God upon a cross to die; 
 
 And Envy ne'er again can forge the lie 
 Of greatness false, for greatness true 
 Is slavery to love the old, old love, yet ever new. 
 
 And soon shall horrid self be all forgot, 
 
 Save when the rebel crew show up in living 
 
 death 
 
 Eternity's lone beacon. 
 But, oh, his boundless love! unselfish love! 
 
 The old, old love, with which he bound us 
 
 To himself and all around us, 
 Now binds his Son upon a wooden beam; 
 No other power in heaven, hell or earth was ever 
 seen 
 
 Could hold him there one moment. 
 O poisoned love ! perverted love ! 
 
 This misused love ! this septic love called Hate 
 
 This truly is the rankling sting of Fate, 
 To all eternity. 
 
 Is this God's plan? This the only way 
 He could create those who can say 
 
 "I will" or "I will not"? 
 Lower grades create he might, 
 Who certainly could never blight 
 
 His truth or strain his love. 
 
 And did he all this know? He must have known 
 From all eternity the higher grades would own 
 Freedom so complete that some would sin ; 
 The lowest grades (half beast) would deceive and 
 
 win. 
 
 That some might be redeemed, his only Son would die ! 
 And ye.t he would create, so free, so high, 
 That now a God we see in dying agony.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1/5 
 
 Oh, the boundless love ! that all this ever knew, 
 And still would freedom share with myriads not a 
 few. 
 
 What if for one short eon, named by mortals "time," 
 
 'Gainst gruesome darkness God's pure love must shine ; 
 Will not the contrast to all eons keep 
 The good from sin, so none may die and weep? 
 
 Will it not show ? How else could we have known 
 
 Love had the strength to pull God from his throne 
 
 To die? 
 
 O boundless love ! O horrid, horrid sin ! 
 God dies ! Man dies ! Angels have death within ! 
 
 But how will Sin's short eon with Eternity compare? 
 
 Between a raindrop and vast ocean's bulk 
 
 Some ratio may exist, but not between 
 
 Time and Eternity. 
 
 When Time and Sin are gone, Eternity will roll, 
 Ever and ever roll, entranced in boundless love. 
 
 Then thought I, "What would Satan do," 
 Now that the plan was full in view? 
 
 And guessed I well, for guess I did, 
 
 He would try hard to keep it hid ; 
 
 To keep it from the ears of men 
 The glorious news : God died for them. 
 
 Beat back the news long as he could, 
 
 Which saves from death when understood ; 
 Unsaved, so he might rake them in 
 To hell, where love can never win. 
 
 Millions, yes, billions, he will grasp 
 
 In ignorance, and hold them fast 
 
 Till they are dead; those he will cast 
 
 Into hell's gorge. 
 If the light even slowly spread, 
 He must get millions of the dead; 
 
 . *.
 
 176 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Millions he will never get, 
 If the recording angel's check 
 
 Stamps not millions of excuses, 
 Poor apologies and ruses; 
 Or even worse the baby act; 
 Made by men with powers intact; 
 
 Made by those whom Satan's might 
 Holds back so that they will not fight; 
 Will not help to spread the light. 
 But yet the deed we see this day 
 Must even nerve the human clay, 
 Until as angels fight will they 
 The truth to spread, His voice obey. 
 And then, oh, then, how bright will be 
 The face of earth, when all can see 
 Their dying God nailed to this tree. 
 This surely will the veriest I 
 Nail to a beam and crucify; 
 This surely will His love impart 
 To every soul who claims a heart; 
 
 And Earth, O Earth! thy dying God 
 Will make thee fit for their abode; 
 And Science with Love will unite 
 To cleanse their home, and make it bright; 
 To make it fit for the abode 
 Of those he calls "the sons of God." 
 
 These are some thoughts which at that time 
 Kept passing through that head of mine, 
 There as unwillingly that day 
 A spectator forced was I to stay; 
 Forced witness to the culmination 
 Of a plan, the date of whose inception 
 So far precedes my first connection 
 With life and things,
 
 DEATH AiND THE REPORTER. 177 
 
 That the difference 'twixt the time 
 You live and I exist 
 
 No ratio brings. 
 
 But dreamt I ever ? Ne'er did I, 
 He'd take that body to the sky, 
 And show those nail prints up on high. 
 
 Surely, this to eternity 
 
 Will keep each heart from enmity. 
 Envy will surely never boast 
 'Gainst love displayed at such a cost. 
 
 Surely, he has guarded well, 
 
 So none will make another hell ; 
 Surely, Eternity can roll, 
 And roll, and roll, and ever roll, 
 
 But none will ever doubt again 
 
 The love that stood such awful pain. 
 Eternity is safe from sin, 
 When lives the "Lamb as had been slain." 
 
 Was't all for you this deed was done? 
 
 It reaches further than the sun, 
 Away beyond the reach of star 
 Its influence spreads beyond, afar ; 
 
 Afar in space, afar in time, 
 
 Afar its influence must chime 
 
 O'er all and all; 
 
 And ever must this influence keep 
 Love enduring, pure and sweet. 
 
 Ashamed would Envy hide her head, 
 
 To envy one who had been dead, 
 To envy one by envy slain 
 Can envy e'er break out again! 
 
 Can it be all this is done, 
 
 So higher yet the grades may run; 
 So higher yet and freer far, 
 . All may evolve who holy are ; 
 12 

 
 178 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 So more like God, companions more, 
 The saved and holy may adore? 
 
 Their view of greatness now has grown ; 
 
 Who serve are nearest to the throne ; 
 
 Who serve the most are most like God. 
 He staggered 'neath a fearful load; 
 
 He bore the cursed load of sin; 
 
 Who serve the most are most like him. 
 Would Envy envy him a serf? 
 Was he much better when on earth? 
 
 He was a workman with his hands, 
 
 Whoe'er awaited his commands? 
 
 Now in those wounded hands he shows 
 Where nails were forced by cruel blows; 
 
 He shows these nail prints on his throne 
 
 The highest place in heaven's dome. 
 Ah, thus it may be, thus it is 
 Who serve are saved, the others miss. 
 
 And what they miss! This range of thought, 
 
 This evolution dearly bought, 
 
 This growing fullness, never full, 
 Knowledge fresh from Wisdom's school; 
 
 Ever learning, grasping more, 
 
 With freedom everywhere to soar; 
 Not fettered as we soon shall be, 
 All vast creation they may see; 
 
 Not curbed with growth forever stopp'd, 
 
 With thoughts whose gnawing can't be dropp'd; 
 Their great ambition but to die, 
 As thus for eons some will lie, 
 
 A living spectacle of woe 
 
 Living, the effects of sin to show. 
 Living say dying, chasing death, 
 Ever cursing with their breath;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 1/ 
 
 To show how every phase of sin 
 Is punished, so none try again. 
 
 'Tis hard, but some forever will; 
 
 Ever is part present, that you fill, 
 If now some punishment you feel; 
 If pain sometimes your essence reel, 
 Why not for aye? 
 
 Who promised you eternal sleep? 
 
 Who whispered you would never weep 
 
 Through all eternity? 
 If 'tis not wrong that you feel pain, 
 Why should it not recur again 
 Again, again, again, and evermore again? 
 
 'Tis a false hope a deep, deceiving jest 
 
 Which demons nurse within your breast; 
 That paints the future all, as well, 
 And gives the laugh to endless hell. 
 
 'Tis but a part of Satan's scheme 
 
 That lulls to death, with frights between, 
 
 When you catch glimpses through the screen. 
 Sometimes he does the screen withdraw, 
 And lets despair enforce the law ; 
 
 In all such cruelty he gloats, 
 
 To him these are the festive spots; 
 These are the spots that seem to thrill 
 The frozen glaciers of his will. 
 
 I see it now, but all too late; 
 
 Despair forever seals my fate. 
 Why talk I thus? Your will is fate. 
 Yes, now it is; there 'tis too late. 
 
 But what a victory he won ! 
 
 The tempted God! God's tempted Son 
 Victorious now where others fell, 
 Exposed the sophistry of Hell ; 
 
 -
 
 l8o DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Proved temptations are not sin ; 
 
 Free will implies no wrong within, 
 
 Nor yet without. 
 Only his own will to bow, 
 And man may dwell in glory now ; 
 
 For a road from Calvary's brow 
 
 Is opened up to heaven. How? 
 See that dying God! 
 Open now the road! 
 
 See him the ransom pay! 
 
 Can Death and Hell gainsay? 
 Eternal Justice holds the scales, 
 And truest balance never fails. 
 
 She holds them up on high, 
 
 Before the Father's eye. 
 Then listen to that cry! 
 Out from the darkness why 
 
 Forsaken by his God, 
 
 Too much the fearful load; 
 His common language fails, 
 In childhood's tongue he wails; 
 
 Sees an averted face; 
 
 Stern Justice in its place, 
 Exacting to the last; 
 Now also that is past. 
 
 He knows 'tis finished now; 
 
 Hear Him say, "I thirst." 
 Who helps the dying man? 
 Yes, help him if you can; 
 
 For millions in the air 
 
 Would help him if they dare. 
 He takes the proffered drink. 
 Ye myriad angels, think! 
 
 Your Maker nailed so fast, 
 
 Must in anguish ask
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. l8l 
 
 Of rebels for a drink! 
 Ye myriad angels, think! 
 
 But what was that he said? 
 "Tis finished!" Is he dead? 
 Death, forward? No, not I. 
 Listen to that fearful cry. 
 
 Down steps the great I Am; 
 
 Stand upright now who can; 
 Down, down, each spirit there ; 
 Prostrate if still in air. 
 
 Prostrate because they must 
 
 Every demon bit the dust; 
 Flat on the trembling earth 
 Every devil found a berth. 
 
 And how that earth did quake, 
 
 How everything did shake; 
 For there stood the I Am ; 
 Not now as when in man 
 
 No longer now concealed, 
 
 But Holiness revealed. 
 There as we trembling lay, 
 I heard an angel say: 
 
 "O Thou, thrice holy One, 
 
 Now that thy work is done, 
 Now Thou triumphant art, 
 Reign Thou in every heart. 
 
 See, now thy body sleeps, 
 
 Thy earthly friends but weep. 
 We Thee adore! 
 Suffer shame no more ! 
 
 The guards of Eden wait their Lord 
 
 They, with the flaming sword ; 
 Say but the word, and now 
 We stand on Calvary's brow."
 
 l82 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 The Prince of Glory said: 
 "Angels with power arrayed, 
 Nay; do not interfere 
 With circumstances here. 
 
 For now my love is sown 
 
 Not in your hearts alone; 
 Now in the human breast 
 Works the love that will not rest, 
 
 Until all the world shall know 
 
 Of my blood which here did flow. 
 That love will not quiescent be; 
 It will conquer all the free. 
 
 My love in the human heart 
 
 Strength to the feeble will impart, 
 Until all the world shall hear 
 Truth, which man alone can cheer. 
 
 Love will be their motive power, 
 
 Their incentive from this hour ; 
 And my body now I give 
 To the love of those who live. 
 
 To them, not you, I give this charge; 
 
 You have other fields so large; 
 To these fields do now repair, 
 And my love be with you there." 
 
 So spake the Spirit of the Lord, 
 
 In some such way spoke the Adored. 
 
 Then the legions of the blest 
 
 Sought each the work that suits them best: 
 And the demon legions lay 
 Prone in the open light of day; 
 
 But finding soon that Jesus was not there, 
 
 Roused every demon from his lair, 
 And Satan, looking all around, 
 Gave vent to gusto most profound:
 
 "Comrades, here we are again ! 
 What much ado He makes of men ! 
 
 Comrades, what is this about? 
 
 Whether now to laugh or shout 
 I scarce can tell. 
 But such folly out of hell 
 Who ever saw? 
 
 And the darkness of the pit 
 
 Would not foolishness permit 
 
 Such as this. 
 
 Look at Him ! Just look at Him ! 
 The Almighty! Look at Him! 
 
 Dreamed you ever such a thing! 
 
 Give imagination wing, 
 
 Harps of sulphur music ring, 
 
 Dream of this. 
 
 Has not He almighty power? 
 Why the farce we see this hour? 
 
 Is He omnipotent? (He is, or He is not.) 
 
 Or is this farce beyond our thought? 
 It matters not whatever view you take. 
 How can it any difference make? 
 
 If He could sin and misery prevent, 
 
 Why, then, upon us was it sent? 
 If He could not prevent it (whate'er He claims), 
 There's a power above what He ordains 
 It matters not to us. 
 
 When He made all the laws, did He ask our 
 consent ? 
 
 Why bring us here to see His fury spent, 
 
 And these same laws all torn and rent? 
 Why this tragedy at all? 
 How connect it with the Fall? 
 
 What good moral would He teach, 
 
 All this justice to impeach? 
 
 ' *.
 
 184 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Why not smash and change it round 
 Till no trace of it be found? 
 I suppose He made it; 
 No one doubts it He has said it 
 Said He did 
 And could He fib? 
 Oh, no; but look at Him! 
 Just look at Him!" 
 
 Beelzebub arose and said: "Say, Satan, now 
 
 We all know he is dead; and waiting thou, 
 Go insult that body there; 
 His angels they have vanished where? 
 
 Who now will interfere? 
 
 See, your comrades all are here." 
 
 But Satan looked around and said : 
 "Yes, I know that He is dead; 
 
 But dead and on the cross alone, 
 
 He is as safe as on His throne. 
 The dead Almighty on that tree 
 Is still almighty unto me; 
 
 I puzzled only am by three 
 
 Existence, God, Eternity. 
 Oft has my mind groped back to mist, 
 With the potent fact I do exist. 
 
 But how? say how I but one answer hear; 
 
 And it I scorn, for it brings no cheer. 
 Yet the impress my mem'ry first records 
 All, boundless all, and I, were once the Lord's. 
 
 This was the impress which I first received; 
 
 This was the impress which I long believed. 
 You saw me kneel when I saw him descend 
 From that low throne, whence now those arms ex- 
 tend.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 185 
 
 Then I saw God! The God I saw at first, 
 
 Long, long ere I the bubble, Love, had burst. 
 Why did I so? In looking round and round, 
 I gazed on vast eternity, and found 
 
 (Or wondered much if it I did not find) 
 
 If God was not in some way of our kind. 
 I gazed on vast eternity and thought, 
 If back and back my way I wrought; 
 
 If further back I went, I'd find the date 
 
 Where God himself evolved or was create. 
 Then back and back my way I wrought, 
 And further back I went, but found it not. 
 
 Then asked I God if he would be so kind 
 
 To lend me help the primal truth to find. 
 So back we went, and back, and further still 
 I found no limit to the Eternal Will 
 
 To help but mine 'twas not to grasp 
 
 The boundless volume of the past. 
 The Infinite alone can see 
 Eons run to eternity. 
 
 The creature from his natal day 
 
 Could waste eternity away 
 At harking back to what is past 
 The steady job would ever last. 
 
 For ever as the vista clears, 
 
 Of eons never named by years, 
 Other eons would unfold, 
 And back of them would lie untold 
 The record of eternity. 
 
 And so would ever wear away 
 
 The weary research of each day; 
 
 On, on to all eternity. 
 Existence! only mystery! 
 Who can trace thy history? 
 

 
 1 86 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Eternity, whichever way we look, 
 Is boundless. Can there be a book 
 Which records past eternity? Can there be a God 
 Coeval with eternity? God only knows. 
 
 "He never did create a mind 
 
 But here it could its limit find. 
 Oft have I gazed at this in sate 
 It marks me less than infinite. 
 
 Oft as I gazed on the eternal all 
 
 Oft as I gazed, felt I this self so small ; 
 Oft as I dreamed, I felt myself a part 
 Of this vast all, this masterpiece of art. 
 
 Who was the artist? Wherefore did I doubt? 
 
 Who first conceived the plan ? Who wrought it out ? 
 Whose was the master mind, and whose the arm of 
 
 power ? 
 Who says and it is done, in years, or in an hour? 
 
 Who set the bounds of space? Where are they? 
 Oh, where! 
 
 Who first named Eternity, or was it ever there? 
 Now tell me, all ye demons assembled at this show ; 
 Tell me, yes, tell me if you can, something I do not know. 
 
 Yet I will tell you something you never must forget ; 
 
 These thoughts I now find use for I'll blind Jeho- 
 vah's pet 
 
 The bias in my favor, I'll run them up against 
 Some of this kind of thinking, extended or condensed. 
 
 What they do not know, will they believe? 
 
 What they can not grasp, will they receive? 
 If that head of mud can not grasp the plan, 
 'Gainst the love of God I'll hold the man. 
 
 I God's creature long have been, 
 
 Pondering well what I have seen; 
 And even when I did adore, 
 I wondered much what was before.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 187 
 
 O mystery! Great mystery! 
 
 The vast unwritten history. 
 But what we call the omnipresence 
 Of the great Essential Essence 
 
 Gives no trouble to me now 
 
 Cursing, yet I humbly bow. 
 For I feel it, feel it ever, 
 Leave that Presence can I never ; 
 
 If He is not everywhere, 
 
 Where'er I wander He is there. 
 This makes hell of every place, 
 Vacancy I've ceased to chase; 
 
 But now accept the inevitable, 
 
 And play my part of being devil. 
 
 "And has it come to this? I fain had thought 
 Something would go amiss, and come to naught. 
 
 Oh, had I but made Him quail! 
 
 Then all and everything did fail 
 Back to negation we all in all had gone; 
 None would exist but He who holds the throne. 
 Only a cycle in vast eternity 
 
 How many more have been before, 
 
 Jehovah knows, I do not. 
 But this I know : The devil's part 
 I'll play with more than hellish art. 
 
 No record searcher e'er will say 
 
 That he my part could better play. 
 And the part I will play now, 
 Let me tell you why and how : 
 
 When upon your face you fell, 
 
 Was you really sleeping, Beel? 
 Or did you hear Him ever tell 
 Of how He would fight with hell? 
 
 Did you ever hear Him say, 
 
 His love divine in human clay 
 

 
 1 88 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Would all our work undo? 
 Insult to me and you. 
 
 No longer with our kind, 
 
 Angels of equal mind, 
 Fight we; but with those swine, 
 Those piglike beasts divine 
 
 These are our foemen now; 
 
 Down to the fight we bow. 
 
 "But listen, ye shades of hell! 
 Listen now, and I will tell 
 
 You a thing or two, 
 
 What I intend to do. 
 Did He say that they alone 
 Must tell of blood that will atone? 
 
 When any man gets so high-strung 
 
 He would for Jesus wag his tongue, 
 
 I'll gag him. 
 
 Of all else they may freely speak, 
 But of the Lowly One, so meek, 
 They must never. 
 
 Even manly courage, then, 
 
 The grit of ordinary men, 
 
 I will sever. 
 
 Think you this is hard to do? 
 Not for me might be for you. 
 
 This is where I mean to fight, 
 
 When any one inclines to right; 
 Him I will manipulate, 
 And work as hard as bitter Fate 
 
 Permits. Now, there is no use to deny 
 
 It will take effort. We must try; 
 
 Strain every nerve, and find the why 
 We do not win; for the old God himself 
 Is now on record, now on heaven's shelf.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 189 
 
 The farce is written: See the great dead I! 
 
 A guarantee that the Most High 
 Will be in battle ever nigh; 
 Yet telling how each man should die 
 
 To self, to sloth, to sin 
 
 Even crucified with Him; 
 All earthly things to leave and soar, 
 And be as God they would adore. 
 
 So they themselves must sacrifice 
 
 In order that their neighbor rise. 
 And as their nature He did take, 
 So now His nature they must make 
 
 Their pattern a guide to them 
 
 In dealings with their fellow men. 
 This theory will make men puff; 
 The practice will be awful stuff; 
 I've known those cattle long enough. 
 
 Sin is ingrained in every heart; 
 
 We have been playing well our part 
 It will take crucifixion sure 
 To cleanse the heart from all impure; 
 
 From worshiping of self's big I, 
 
 Which, though unseen, still towers on high. 
 But now that He is dead and gone, 
 And when all those He calls His own 
 
 When they, like other beasts, are dead, 
 Could we prevent this matter's spread? 
 We might enlarge the gates of hell, 
 And rush them headlong in pell-mell. 
 What is the matter with you, Beel?" 
 
 Beelzebub was on his feet, 
 
 And said he scarce could keep his seat 
 
 And listen to such talk. 
 
 'Twas time that all should fly or walk, 
 
 .. *.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And mind their business well, 
 Of fitting souls for hell. 
 "But how about that plan 
 
 I heard of saving man, 
 
 In which the Triune God 
 Each one took part the load? 
 
 Now that the Son is gone, 
 
 What if the Spirit come, 
 
 He worse than angels all 
 Will answer every call, 
 
 And no mistake will make, 
 
 But each advantage take." 
 
 Said Satan: "That is so. 
 I realize the foe 
 
 That we may have to fight 
 
 Is clothed with every might. 
 If power it was alone 
 That could for sin atone, 
 
 We surely were undone. 
 
 But look at the dead Son. 
 As long as it please Fate 
 That Justice sit in state, 
 
 Even almighty power 
 
 Is baffled every hour; 
 
 And baffled you shall see, 
 Even by me. 
 
 No living God, much less one dead, 
 
 By what is either done or said, 
 Can patch hell a mile, 
 Or cleanse what does defile; 
 
 His power He will have to use, 
 
 Or rather it abuse 
 
 Love can not do it. 
 Sheer brute force He must try 
 To cleanse the human sty;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And this same force on me 
 
 His working force must be; 
 Then victory I shall roar, 
 And shout for evermore. 
 
 But listen, ye shades of night! 
 
 It will take years for light 
 
 To penetrate earth's gloom; 
 It will not, can not soon, 
 
 If we but do our part 
 
 To influence the heart. 
 
 Just think of all the schemes, 
 Think of the various means, 
 
 We can safely employ 
 
 To baffle and annoy. 
 
 There is still the brute within 
 What a powerful pull for sin ; 
 
 The old man is living still 
 
 What a powerful pull for ill. 
 This a pull is all the time 
 A never-ending source of crime. 
 
 This is something ne'er lets up 
 
 To holy ones a bitter cup ; 
 
 To careless ones, oh, what a snare, 
 For carrion bodies and despair! 
 
 And these are they to whom He gives 
 
 Sole power to spread the truth that lives! 
 It will be spread, ha! ha! it will, 
 But not before old hell we fill 
 
 With human souls. 
 
 Yes, as time rolls, 
 
 Even the reason : that he gives 
 Into their hands the truth that lives, 
 
 So they may tell the world around, 
 
 Till in each hut the news is found ;
 
 192 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Make them His messengers of peace, 
 To work for Him, and never cease 
 Till all the world should know 
 The cleansing blood which here did flow; 
 Even this reason I will use, 
 Or if you please, I will abuse, 
 So that they will make a muss, 
 And in a circle reason thus: 
 
 'The great, good God to us has given 
 A guarantee that insures heaven; 
 He has saved our souls from hell, 
 Which suits us all extremely well. 
 He also can all others save, 
 And will if they themselves behave. 
 Some say He does on us depend 
 To tell the news glad tidings send; 
 That only thus can all men hear 
 Truth, which alone their hearts can cheer. 
 Yet I hardly think 'tis so, 
 For should it be, truth will not grow 
 Some plan there is we do not know. 
 God can not think I'm such a fool, 
 That He could make of me a tool. 
 Now I am safe, what do I care 
 How other men escape the snare? 
 Now that I feel I am all right, 
 Why should I bother with the fight? 
 Sure, God must have some other plan 
 To send the truth to brother-man. 
 
 If he has not, truth will not spread 
 Till many millions more are dead.' 
 
 "Thus and thus will saved ones talk; 
 Or speak they not, thus they will act. 
 Think you this is hard to do? 
 Not for me might be for you.
 
 1 il AiMJJ iJH.IV K.tVr UK I JiK. 
 
 Know you not each crazy fool 
 
 Inclines whichever way we pull, 
 
 And ne'er suspects 'tis I who rule. 
 
 Now, when from darkness one may flee, 
 Should his eyes open, try to see; 
 
 Then see that self, so huge and vast, 
 
 His powers engross as in the past; 
 
 Ne'er let him of his neighbor think, 
 Just make him think he's on the brink 
 
 Of weal or woe himself; turn all on self 
 
 His love on self, his fears on self; 
 
 All, all on self, so that the light may never spread 
 Till many millions more are dead. 
 
 How will you do it? I see it in my mind. 
 
 'Tis intuition tells me how ! Are you so blind ? 
 Turn his eyes inside on self. He sees the wretch, 
 
 And doubts the power of God to save. 
 He doubts, he wonders, and he fears, 
 But never works; he never cheers 
 
 The hosts of heaven with ransomed souls ; 
 
 And as time forever onward rolls, 
 Our point is gained. 
 
 "That is one way ! but there are plans and plans, 
 And as you work, your power expands. 
 
 Another way you still may try: 
 
 Amuse the fools until they die, 
 
 With self, the same old self, the self-same self. 
 
 Just make them think that, as their God, 
 
 When he on earth had his abode, 
 
 Was pure and holy, absolutely right, 
 So they must never spread the light, 
 Presume to join him in the fight, 
 
 Till they are sanctified and pure; 
 
 Till they are holy, holy, holy sure. 
 13
 
 194 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Ah! if we only this could do, 
 
 Hell scarce could hold her rebel crew. 
 Why not? It must reasonable appear 
 That those who worship God in fear 
 
 Should have clean hands be pure of heart, 
 
 Ere any try the truth impart. 
 Just any way the work to stop ; 
 Anything to make them drop 
 
 All thoughts of saving other souls; 
 
 Then time, which ever, ever rolls, 
 Will do the rest. All will be ours, 
 With little effort of the powers 
 Assembled here. 
 
 "Brace up! There is many a plan 
 We can evolve to ruin man. 
 
 But should he tell them "Go," and I suppose 
 
 he will, 
 
 Shall I tell them "No" or only wait until 
 Until what? Anything, everything 
 Build temples to the skies! 
 Sermons in stone shall rise! 
 Any old thing, any new thing, 
 
 Anything but "Go." 
 Then we will find many an ism 
 To make a lively schism 
 They must be sure they are right 
 Before they spread the light; 
 Besides, they must attend 
 To those who do offend 
 
 By not seeing as they do. 
 
 But Go ah, no! not if I know it. Leave that to me. 
 I'll find them good excuse; and centuries shall 
 
 roll 
 Before the truth is told to every human soul.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IQ5 
 
 Yes, centuries and centuries, until the truth is old, 
 And his old love is frozen is frozen with the cold. 
 
 Look at our harvest all this time; 
 Millions upon millions to dwell with us for aye; 
 His love can ne'er draw such a crowd as we will 
 have that day, 
 
 The day of reckoning. 
 
 Think you that God upon the tree 
 
 Has greater influence now than me? 
 
 Well, let time roll on and we shall see. 
 His love might melt a heart of stone. 
 Could they but look this sight upon ; 
 
 But let time roll, and many a soul 
 
 Shall never know his blood did flow; 
 And many a soul 
 Now on the roll, 
 
 The truth to tell, 
 
 Shall ne'er fight hell. 
 I will scare them, I will dare them, 
 I will soothe them, I will smooth them, 
 
 Until they actually think, 
 
 Although his Son hang till he stink, 
 God is too good to punish sin 
 In those whom sloth prevents us win. 
 Rather than force us thus to make 
 Such a disagreeable break, 
 
 He will suggest and undertake 
 
 Some other way, so they escape. 
 Thus and thus shall saved ones think. 
 While we complacently will wink. 
 
 Think you this is hard to do? 
 
 Not for me might be for you. 
 
 "But some may say, 'What if He come. 
 Equal of Father and of Son
 
 196 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 The Holy One, should He come here, 
 How will we fight, with God so near?' 
 
 Ye thick heads, of such maudlin lore 
 
 Have not I told you oft before, 
 
 That He whom holy ones adore 
 Can not cooperate with men 
 Where self is high as angels' ken; 
 
 Can not and will not live where sin 
 
 Causes men to laugh and demons grin ; 
 
 Will not remain where things are foul, 
 And secret sins make mortals howl? 
 
 Think you the battle now is o'er 
 
 That world and flesh exist no more? 
 
 Your humble servant's work is o'er? 
 Then let me rest! 
 All's for the best! 
 
 "But now I swear by all in hell 
 
 To make the human carcass smell, 
 Till God forever leave the place, 
 And I alone shall rule the race. 
 
 Did not you see the Nazarene 
 
 In humble guise his Godhead screen? 
 Not even as a prince of men 
 He toiled, the lowliest of them. 
 
 Those arms, those limbs, that noble head, 
 
 Were used to earn his daily bread; 
 Thus an example He has given 
 Of greatness as it comes from heaven. 
 
 But I will show you very soon 
 
 Greatness as seen beneath the moon. 
 
 That head which from the cross hangs down 
 Was offered the whole world's crown. 
 
 See the thorns that were his choice; 
 
 He jeers preferred to brazen noise.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 197 
 
 But I will guarantee we'll find 
 
 No further trouble of this kind. 
 When his successors get around, 
 They will want some other sound. 
 
 The crown which he refused to wear 
 
 They'll take, and still with envy stare. 
 In all the lands where we have been, 
 One crown has satisfied the king. 
 
 He who succeeds the Nazarene, 
 
 In humbleness will oft be seen; 
 Not as a prince is among men 
 That were as nothing, nothing, when 
 
 The crowns upon his head I'll pile, 
 
 Until, awe struck, there's none can smile. 
 I will place him on Caesar's throne. 
 Crown piled on crown, so lofty grown ; 
 
 Call him the peer of common kings; 
 
 His grooms will be such trifling things; 
 He will claim to act for God, 
 Till thrones shall tremble at his nod. 
 
 And though I am very sure 
 
 His miracles will be poor, 
 Yet if they are, what difference that? 
 He will excel in the next act. 
 
 For when it comes to pardoning sin, 
 
 Christ never could compare with him. 
 I only fear, when once begun, 
 This may be slightly overdone. 
 
 It must be all with mystery bound, 
 
 Or it may be run into the ground. 
 Run over sometimes mud-heads will, 
 When you only desire to fill. 
 
 Is there a limit to the stuff 
 
 They hold before they say 'enough'?
 
 198 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Well, you may think so, but I swear 
 I never found it, if 'tis there; 
 
 And as no miracles attest, 
 
 'Tis said as easy as a jest. 
 And how this business may expand, 
 With agents spread through every land. 
 
 Yet if this does too little seem, 
 
 He may surprise the Nazarene 
 By giving a permit to sin, 
 Before you do the deed begin. 
 
 O sin! Ah, sin! Thou crafty foe! 
 
 How little of thee do mortals know ! 
 Could they but stand where we have been, 
 Would they thus trifle with the unseen? 
 
 Could they but see what they might be, 
 
 Would they now tarry long with thee? 
 But this insult unto Heaven 
 Hurl I will, sure as I am living. 
 
 Does His omniscience know all this? 
 
 Does He foresee such cussedness? 
 Is there some power beyond His sway, 
 To which even He can not say nay? 
 
 Yet sink these words deep in your brain, 
 
 You will hear from them again. 
 You think that this is hard to do; 
 Not for me might be for you. 
 
 And think you that the Holy One 
 
 Will live on earth when that time come? 
 If he should, 'twill show how strange 
 A God can act, and never change. 
 
 No! He will haste so far away, 
 
 I'll stamp all truth from human clay. 
 I will not leave a single one 
 To magnify his glorious Son.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. IQ9 
 
 This deed that now your eyes behold, 
 
 Shows greatness as it was of old ; 
 Before there was a heaven or hell, 
 Love could all of greatness tell. 
 
 But I will show in time to come 
 
 A parody on greatness run, 
 
 Shaming all else beneath the sun ; 
 Claiming salvation by that blood 
 The blood that trickled from their God ; 
 
 Showing self-abnegation sure, 
 
 Unalloyed, straight and pure. 
 Imagination ne'er descried; 
 Love, the Almighty crucified ! 
 
 What held those hands ? What held those feet ? 
 
 Bound the All-powerful to that seat? 
 What but that love of self was less 
 Than love of those he came to bless? 
 
 But I will show you selfish love 
 
 Love to one's self all else above 
 Even in those who take his name, 
 Who on his love rest all their claim; 
 
 Who on his love to all mankind 
 
 Their only hope of heaven find. 
 Yet this love I will cause them use, 
 Or, if you please, make them abuse. 
 
 In synagogues all furnished fine 
 
 They listen will to words divine, 
 
 And think: 'How nice for me and mine.' 
 While these same words and Christ's heart-love 
 Will strive in vain their hearts to move, 
 
 So they to brother men may show 
 
 The healing stream which here does flow 
 
 'For us and ours, so nice you know. 
 As for the heathen round about, 
 We pity them, beyond a doubt; 
 But, then, that is not our lookout.' 

 
 2OO DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 They will reason thus and talk, 
 
 Or speak they not, thus will they act. 
 
 Think you this is hard to do? 
 
 Not for me might be for you. 
 
 "Yet I will show you worse than this: 
 Things that would make us devils hiss. 
 
 I will show saints redeemed by blood 
 
 Of him, the only Son of God, 
 
 Who in the hollow of his hand 
 Holds all the oceans, seas and land; 
 
 I will show how these heirs of light, 
 
 By blood redeemed from hell and night, 
 
 Weigh God's own blood with grains of sand- 
 The yellow dust that forms a band 
 
 'Round many souls; yet I will show, 
 
 To weigh the blood which here did flow, 
 There scarce is metal base enough 
 To make a coin cheap enough, 
 
 So men may measure back their love. 
 
 Will not this grieve the Holy Dove, 
 
 And make him leave the world to me, 
 That I am king you soon shall see? 
 
 "Now, really, would you like to know 
 
 How I will do this? Is it so? 
 As we in unison must act, 
 I'll put you on the inside track. 
 
 'Tis the old game the evolution 
 
 Of the big I in solution. 
 
 Oh, what a problem is to solve 
 Since we the big I did evolve! 
 
 You know these monkeys grade themselves 
 
 As pile the goods upon their shelves. 
 
 When grows their pile of yellow dust, 
 Their social status rise it must.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 2OI 
 
 If it does not grow, or downward hies, 
 Their social status does not rise. 
 
 But if their pile takes wings and flies, 
 
 Their social status well, it dies. 
 If style they carry till they burst, 
 Some other pile them carry must, 
 Or soon they will be in the dust. 
 
 If this is true, as true it is, 
 
 My calculation will not miss. 
 Where is the margin for the Lord? 
 When social status does absorb 
 
 All that they have or ever shall 
 
 What is there left for God at all? 
 It is so easy to go up; 
 Come down, that is the bitter cup. 
 
 Step clown and hear your neighbors tell 
 
 Many would rather go to hell. 
 A man's position in this life 
 Finds an exponent in his wife. 
 
 Now this I have to you explained, 
 
 So you never may be blamed; 
 When you with me cooperate, 
 Have your ideas up to date. 
 
 But cursed be the loafing lout 
 
 Lets one of Christ's own heart thaw out; 
 They all must beat as still and slow 
 As beats that heart now burst with woe; 
 
 And be as practically dead 
 
 As his, beneath that bowed head, 
 
 And cold as any piece of lead. 
 So if you think this game worth while, 
 All pull together, them beguile, 
 And make this grizzly face to smile. 
 
 "Now these old Jews gave ten per cent 
 To institutions that were meant
 
 2O2 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To dimly point how He should come 
 The great Redeemer, God's own Son; 
 
 But these new Jews, with all their light, 
 
 Must never average a mite. 
 In vain, in vain this blood shall plead; 
 In vain He points them to this deed; 
 
 I will each effort paralyze, 
 
 Each longing choke until it dies. 
 Every attempt made in this line 
 Leave it to me, the work is mine; 
 
 I will blast them to the root, 
 
 So they never can yield fruit. 
 Think of those greedy men whose love of self 
 Evolves in various ways their love of pelf. 
 
 Some want all gold ; some want to own the earth ; 
 
 And if this was a proper place for mirth, 
 Would say they want it fenced with one square post, 
 On every side of which appears the ghost 
 
 Of self 'Mine! Mine! Mine!' 
 
 Even that is not enough for there would shine 
 The words, 'Keep off ! Move on ! Move on ! Keep 
 
 off!' 
 
 On we have seen fools move, clear off the planet; 
 Hungry cold dead so bridle-wise, yet fools! 
 
 Think you these greedy men His suffering will 
 change, 
 
 So they will give a tenth? 'Tis not within the 
 
 range 
 
 Of blood to do it. There's nothing but an asteroid 
 In the gloom of hell can fill the void 
 
 In their hearts. No service out of them 
 
 These are the safest of our men. 
 
 "But if some heart should really swell, 
 And get a streak of giving well,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 203 
 
 How do they know but I will try 
 
 And get my finger in the pie. 
 Surely, we easily can find 
 One of the complacent kind, 
 
 Ready to absorb and take 
 
 Whatever gift they choose to make. 
 But will it be used to spread 
 The knowledge that their God is dead, 
 
 And thus a fighting chance be given 
 
 For men to reach the highest heaven? 
 Or will they use it for ease and mirth 
 The softest snap in all the earth? 
 
 If always used as they intend, 
 
 I will have my ways to mend. 
 
 "There is another point beside : 
 You know this world is very wide; 
 
 All men hither can not come, 
 
 So very far away are some. 
 Not only so; when time rolls by, 
 And Christ takes refuge in the sky, 
 
 Then by what medium shall men know 
 
 That ever here this blood did flow 
 Words, words, words. 
 
 And, comrades, I can clearly show 
 
 If there is anything I know, 
 
 'Tis words, words, words; 
 If there is anything of mine 
 In which I equal the divine, 
 
 'Tis words, words, words. 
 
 Ideas in the absolute; 
 
 Ideas naked to the root; 
 
 In trade I might have to give boot. 
 But clothe them anyway you can, 
 For intercourse 'twixt man and man, 
 

 
 2O4 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 I equal then the great I Am 
 
 In words, words, words. 
 Even that aggregation made 
 By God himself, stamped, the Lord said, 
 
 Though written for each generation, 
 
 Crudest to highest civilization; 
 
 Though written for all kinds of men, 
 Those who soar where angels ken, 
 
 And those who never soar at all, 
 
 As scarce above the brute they crawl; 
 Written to stand the wear of time, 
 And though the words in heaven chime, 
 Still they are words, only words, 
 
 And I will prove in every age 
 
 I equal am in every stage 
 
 Of this great fight, in plan or might, 
 In words, words, words. 
 
 Never an age of time will roll 
 
 But I shall nerve some human soul 
 
 To scoff and giggle, sneer and shout, 
 And turn the old Book inside out, 
 And put the saints of God to rout 
 With words, words, words. 
 
 And if again they gather strength, 
 
 Expose my sophistry at length, 
 
 I shall work up some other mind, 
 Brilliant exponent of his kind. 
 
 Wise he will look, bland he will smile; 
 
 The furthest from his mind is guile 
 He claims to sit on Reason's throne, 
 And says, 'Ha! ha! God there is none.' 
 
 His works indorse what he professes, 
 
 One thought his mind and will possesses. 
 Who else live up to what they preach? 
 Will God's saints live so none impeach?
 
 No, none but mine will live and teach 
 With unison in act and speech; 
 
 For I shall rule in every school 
 Of words, words, words. 
 
 "And the words that written are, 
 
 They will receive with fearful jar. 
 Do you think wise men will fail 
 To give the laugh to Jonah's whale? 
 
 When God would his credentials bring, 
 
 And prove that he is Nature's King, 
 
 My science men will sneer and shout, 
 While I will turn all roundabout, 
 
 And every way br.t what is right, 
 
 The proofs of great Jehovah's might. 
 
 Have e'er you thought in time to come 
 What men will think of Joshua's sun? 
 
 How it stood still, that ponderous mass 
 
 With all its blazing, flaming gas 
 Stood still at Joshua's command, 
 To throw more light upon the land. 
 
 Then when they figure up the tons, 
 
 Tons upon tons, millions of tons 
 
 Of matter stopped, how they will sneer 
 Will laugh and sneer until the tear 
 Stands in their eyes. 
 
 And did the sun stand still? 
 
 Here fools can have their fill. 
 This rolling earth to stop! 
 Easier religion drop. 
 
 Did He fool with the light? 
 
 'Twas easier 'fools' to write. 
 
 You know these microbes on this ball 
 Have singular thoughts of great and small. 
 
 They never having left this globe, 
 
 Have singular thoughts of their abode. 
 
 '4.
 
 2OO DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Had they with us been all through space, 
 And seen the weakest of our race 
 
 Hurl atoms round as if in fun, 
 
 Whose mass to earth was ten to one, 
 And many millions more; 
 
 They might have guessed that they were small, 
 
 And never breathed a sneer at all. 
 
 Now they, though very embryo gods, 
 Know nothing of the fearful loads 
 That gravitation swings. 
 
 And if they did, I doubt if they 
 
 Would ever question, ever say, 
 
 Or would do anything but pray, 
 
 When great Jehovah brings 
 Startling credentials from his throne, 
 So they may set their eyes thereon, 
 
 And deigns with all laws at his beck, 
 
 To touch this microscopic speck, 
 The earth. 
 
 "You see our foes are badly mixed, 
 With souls within their bodies fixed, 
 
 In such a way so closely linked, 
 
 Fools feel convinced, and really think 
 
 The flesh is all of man. 
 But weigh the man, and pound for pound 
 Match him against this rolling ground, 
 
 Then tell him God its mass can stop, 
 
 He will his whole religion drop, 
 
 Rather than believe the tale. 
 Why, the idea in his mind 
 Of God is a peculiar kind. 
 
 Eons have not developed it, 
 
 Nor ages lent their strength to it; 
 
 But centuries have seen its growth 
 Years are foundation for his oath.
 
 These creatures are of yesterday; 
 
 Their God is but a great big man; 
 
 And what a big man can not do, 
 
 Jehovah is not able to. 
 
 His hands are tied behind his back; 
 For should he ever dare to act 
 
 Other than a big man would do, 
 
 Then Ha! ha! ha! it is not true. 
 
 When men find out this world is round, 
 Its rolling mass their minds astound ; 
 
 Then say by God it could be stopped, 
 
 If Joshua the suggestion dropped. 
 
 Then when they know of heat and force 
 A little know not all, of course, 
 
 How they will roar, and laugh, and gasp, 
 
 And think religion now is fast; 
 
 For we will have to play our part, 
 And play upon the human heart. 
 
 We will the heart our way incline, 
 
 And gather hay while the sun does shine. 
 But when they know of matter gross 
 What we now know as well of force; 
 
 When they the ether have surveyed, 
 
 And know the part in nature played 
 By forces now that have no fame, 
 In human language have no name; 
 
 When they can see the earth and sun 
 
 Are but as toys to the heavenly One, 
 Not near so large unto his might 
 As play-balls boys toss up so light; 
 
 Of heat and force He knew it all 
 
 Eons before these men could crawl; 
 
 Will, then, these boys just out of school 
 Direct him Nature how to rule?
 
 2O DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Think they these forces there were put 
 By no one? Oh, they are astute! 
 
 And I am with them all the time ; 
 
 Their words you scarce can tell from mine. 
 Oh, it would have all so easy teen, 
 But for what our eyes this day have seen; 
 
 We could have got them every one. 
 
 But when I look upon his Son 
 Stretched on that tree, it makes me quail. 
 What's next? Which of us two will fail? 
 
 God seems nerved for a desperate game ; 
 
 Despair has bracing power the same; 
 And we will give him tit for tat, 
 Fight in his face or at his back. 
 
 And many a lie he must explode 
 
 Ere truth on earth has its abode, 
 And many are the souls we'll get 
 To revel with us in the pit. 
 
 If he brute force will never use, 
 
 And men have still free will to choose, 
 His love is matched against our lies, 
 To make the earth pure as the skies. 
 
 Who will win? Who suffer loss? 
 
 Look on me, then on that cross. 
 Oh, this is now no holiday; 
 There is no time for us to play; 
 
 We must labor and must toil, 
 
 Strain every nerve his work to foil. 
 There still is left the Babel tower, 
 The Flood, the Fall, the manna shower. 
 
 I hear them laugh; I hear them sneer; 
 
 You artists, your creations cheer; 
 My Ether! I hear the ages laugh; 
 And I see his Word as chaff.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 2OO, 
 
 What little there is left our sire 
 
 Will do no good he is a liar; 
 Or we will prove it is absurd 
 To think these writings are his Word. 
 
 Not God nor any one else can write 
 
 A book adapted to the sight 
 Of the men of a single age, 
 But I could tear it page from page. 
 
 What, then, about a book that claims 
 
 All centuries, and even then disdains 
 One class or state of human kind, 
 But would appeal to every mind? 
 
 The high, the low, the young, the old, 
 
 Savage and cultured, all are told 
 The same old stories will they fit? 
 Not when I am out of the pit. 
 
 I will have them raise a howl; 
 
 Wise men will giggle, some will scowl ; 
 And even those who are redeemed, 
 Will feel ashamed, so false it seemed. 
 
 You see we have a great big pull 
 
 Our scholars do not change, our school 
 Has similar pupils all the time, 
 So what is next we can divine. 
 
 'Tis easy for us to head them off 
 
 With phantoms new and make them scoff. 
 
 "So well will we the light obscure, 
 Their right to think some will abjure; 
 
 And we will have others think for them 
 
 In matters of religious ken. 
 That's old. I've used it from the first. 
 We help the thinkers; these we trust 
 
 With our suggestions; these we fill 
 
 With solemn thoughts from head to tail; 
 14 

 
 210 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 With cunning thoughts, with placid face, 
 They are the he-goats of the race; 
 
 They go before, they lead the way, 
 
 We guard the rear so none can stray. 
 We take a back seat when they're around, 
 Their wisdom shall the earth astound. 
 
 That they are right, my word I give; 
 
 We are all right, long as they live; 
 And they shall live as long as men 
 Live on the earth; earth is the pen. 
 
 When they it leave and soar through air, 
 
 Some other thinkers meet them there. 
 Who more than I believe in Labor's fine 
 Division? One thing only all the time 
 
 Is right. If a man be a business man, 
 
 Let him tend to business all he can, 
 And leave to me and specialists 
 All matters of religious mists. 
 
 We will see him through all right, 
 
 So he never need take fright. 
 If he will not leave it unto us, 
 He'll get befogged in a fearful muss; 
 
 It takes a different kind of brain 
 
 For matters of religious strain. 
 All else the man of common brand 
 Can dig and root and understand; 
 
 But when we want a first-class tool, 
 
 He must be taught in a special school. 
 
 There we will teach him how to fool 
 The common men, the clodhoppers, 
 The workingmen, the woodchoppers. 
 
 What right have these to think ? What right to 
 breathe 
 
 Thoughts of Jehovah? Teach them to leave
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 211 
 
 All such things to me and mine, 
 And then our plan will work out fine. 
 
 If the common herd e'er go to school, 
 
 We must herd them close with rigid rule; 
 They must never think what we think about, 
 Or some sneaking fool might find us out, 
 
 And be damned, eternally damned; 
 
 Let us keep such folly from the land. 
 In lands where I have all the rule 
 Such cattle never go to school. 
 In politics who has the pull? 
 
 Perhaps when with the big head swelled, 
 
 And pride has all their reason felled, 
 These priests of ours should ask their God 
 To share with them the weighty load ; 
 
 Their plans approve and to indorse; 
 
 Would edicts pass for them to enforce; 
 And petrify the human race 
 So every caste may keep its place; 
 
 And that the common herd for aye 
 
 May be the herd that must obey; 
 He will give them just brains enough 
 To scrub and grind and to act rough. 
 
 But that with those and such as those, 
 
 Our noble selves, he will repose 
 
 Wisdom and power. 
 Who! who will listen to that prayer? 
 
 The Carpenter who hangs in air 
 
 These are workman's hands that are nailed up 
 
 there. 
 
 If there are favorites below, 
 If God does any favor show, 
 
 It will be to the lowly, the sons of the soil; 
 
 He has favored them now his Son shared 
 their toil. 

 
 212 DEATH AND THE REPORTER- 
 
 When the talents are loaned and the brains given out, 
 Their share may be larger than any about. 
 
 Will it pay them to educate ? There is the rub. 
 Not when I can help it all efforts I'll snub. 
 Yet should it be done, they might be the men 
 Who would harness up Nature to labor for them. 
 As the old Breath of Life is delivered from sin, 
 'Twill assert o'er all Nature its just right to 
 
 reign ; 
 
 And the class that He came in, the sons of toil, 
 May well say to Nature, 'Deliver the spoil.' 
 I wonder if I will succeed, 
 By dint of time and ancient creed, 
 To blunt a man so he would pray 
 A prayer like that. What do you say? 
 
 You think with them now their God did live 
 A view he did of true greatness give. 
 He gave a view but to the blind 
 Have we not twisted round their mind, 
 So they true greatness ne'er can find? 
 
 So they true greatness would not know, 
 If God himself should to them show. 
 'Tis the flash and the flare catch the eye and the ear; 
 Men and things are not always as they appear. 
 Their minds are stuffed with Caesar's throne, 
 And emperors who climb thereon; 
 Temples and priests of impressive show 
 Make such greatness as they know. 
 
 When greatness as He showed it them 
 Shall be the true ideal of men, 
 Then priests and emperors will be found 
 Restrained with men of mind unsound; 
 And the illusions of their brain 
 Doctors will class as grossly insane.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 213 
 
 "But it will take years and years 
 At least, it so to me appears 
 
 Ere the blasted minds of sinful men 
 
 Can grasp the truths of angels' ken; 
 Ere they know that the greatest is he who serves, 
 That gives highest thrill to human nerves ; 
 
 Ere they know that a God who could choose his 
 birth, 
 
 Chose the highest station when on earth. 
 Though not to them now it thus appears, 
 Yet it will, it must, in the course of years ; 
 
 That is, if the deed which we now behold 
 
 Should unto all ages be truly told. 
 But mark me, ye demons, ye shades of hell, 
 There is thinking to do ere the truth they tell. 
 
 We will work with the teachers who spread the 
 light, _ 
 
 And the light will grow dim and be put out of 
 
 sight. 
 We will work with the hearers, their ears shall be 
 
 stopped ; 
 We will choke unto death truth unwittingly dropped. 
 
 These cattle are our willing prey 
 
 Faithfully serve us all the day. 
 
 Almost love us, I might say. 
 
 "Oh, were it not for that dead God 
 I would bury truth beneath the sod. 
 
 But 'tis not man, 'tis the I Am 
 
 We fight, and do the best we can. 
 To hell some we'll rush, 
 While some we'll push, 
 
 Half willing, half afraid to go; 
 
 The doubting we will stow below. 
 The fearful are ours, and every one 
 Who will not trust in his dead Son
 
 214 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Hanging there! Just look at him. 
 The fearful are ours is what I said. 
 Think of the many million head 
 
 Of cowards we shall meet in hell, 
 Because they have refused to swell 
 The number on the other side. 
 Convinced were they beyond all doubt, 
 But we kept them from starting out, 
 With 'Ha! ha! Look! what will they think?' 
 And ghosts of things that made them shrink. 
 Too much afraid to heaven win, 
 We will have to take them in; 
 Though not a credit to the pit, 
 We will make room for them to sit. 
 
 "And if in words God puts the plan, 
 Just now fulfilled for saving man ; 
 
 Should he with words paint every scene 
 
 Which on earth's theater have been 
 Enacted by the Holy One, 
 In drama played by God's own Son; 
 
 Should he with words and sentences express 
 
 Thoughts which man's words can hardly dress, 
 Then how these words I study will, 
 How every thought my mind shall fill; 
 
 Not fill for three-score years and ten, 
 
 But age on age of common men; 
 
 Study hard will I, and strive to show 
 Something the present age don't know; 
 
 And then get some one with a head 
 
 To introduce it in my stead. 
 
 "Now I will tell you something more 
 But keep it dark from those who soar. 
 Speak low I must, scarce dare I tell 
 Outside a conclave met in hell
 
 Some plan or other God must choose, 
 Truth to preserve, the truth to prove, 
 As ages run. 
 
 Some other plan will surely grow, 
 
 So that all men the truth may know. 
 
 Why should we not, ye dusky shades, 
 Then run a parallel from Hades, 
 
 To any plan that may be tried 
 
 To tell the Son of God has died? 
 And parallel each noble deed, 
 And parallel each subtle creed, 
 
 Then parallel each zealot's fire, 
 
 And parallel each heart's desire. 
 Or best of all, perhaps we can, 
 As ages run of dying man, 
 
 Switch to our parallel whate'er 
 
 Historic truth is left to cheer. 
 
 Have we not played such tricks before, 
 And made the very heavens roar? 
 
 Succeed we now, 'twill bother all 
 
 To tell what is truth on this round ball. 
 
 How can they tell? How can they know, 
 When truth and lies together grow? 
 
 "Yet mark me well, I know the brute, 
 And ours his taste will better suit. 
 
 Whether 'tis a heaven with lots of wives 
 
 Tickles his fancy and revives 
 His fagging faith; or some extreme 
 Who, mumbling truth with lies between, 
 
 Makes it a sin to look on woman's face, 
 
 And in outlandish dress denies the grace 
 
 Of God's first gift. 
 Whichever way they are inclined, 
 Ours is the best show of the kind.
 
 2l6 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 We will have what suits them best, 
 
 To soothe their conscience unto rest. 
 If with humility they try 
 To curb the egotistic I, 
 
 A false humility will strive 
 
 To keep the hidden self alive. 
 But oh, Religion, in thy name 
 Deeds will be done the blush of shame 
 
 Will not cover, nor other words explain, 
 
 But that 'twas I, 'twas I 
 Made fools and demons out of men 
 Used as my tools the best of them. 
 
 "But should the light spread, and the brute 
 Get more into his head than root, 
 
 Then as the light illumes I'll try, 
 
 As dawn just breaks upon the sky, 
 With science, as they see it first, 
 To form a shade the truth to burst. 
 
 And as each shade may disappear 
 
 Before more light, if light should cheer, 
 Some other phantom will be near 
 To fill the saints of God with fear; 
 
 To cause my men to scoff and laugh, 
 
 And make God's word as light as chaff. 
 
 These phantoms with God's word will clash, 
 And all its brazen pillars smash ; 
 
 Because I am the prince of words 
 
 These darting, scintillating birds. 
 
 But some one may get bold and say: 
 'This is the phantom of to-day; 
 The other phantoms, where are they?' 
 
 Can God write for all generations? 
 
 Can words suggest the right sensations 
 
 For every age, and suit all nations?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To write a book for every time, 
 It would keep busy one divine; 
 Unless that I should act the fool, 
 And lose my grip and inside pull. 
 But do not fear; I will be near, 
 With some one ready to appear 
 With words, words, words. 
 
 "As God will sure his truth reveal, 
 
 Just as sin ceases to congeal 
 
 His followers I will have to fix 
 So they together can not mix; 
 
 So they together can not act ; 
 
 But each will think the pond'rous fact, 
 The ism of his weighty brain 
 However much it others pain 
 
 Is of much greater value far 
 
 Than spreading light upon that star. 
 Can the muddled brain of man 
 Grasp the fullness of the plan? 
 
 Can he grasp in three-score years 
 
 The secrets of eternity? 
 
 Why, then, should we be so slow 
 Eons to live, yet not all know? 
 
 We gave it up we can not grasp 
 
 The fullness of the hoary past. 
 
 But man, weak man, he knows it all, 
 Though but a microbe on a ball 
 Say, 'Well done, devil.' 
 
 "But should the light of heaven 
 Cheer the little leaven; 
 
 Cheer this newly-planted love 
 Transplanted from above, 
 
 Our ancient home; 
 Should this love increase and grow, 
 And make the earth as pure as snow, 
 
 .
 
 2l8 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 And every one should come to know 
 That it was the little leaven 
 Once handed down from heaven 
 
 That made it so; 
 
 And these facts should they array 
 What think you I would say? 
 
 Think you I would give up, 
 
 And drink a bitter cup? 
 I, who can use each word, 
 Would grin, and say 'Absurd!' 
 
 And words on words array, 
 
 And make it clear as day 
 
 What? 'Tis not safe to say, 
 For I an artist am 
 In words, words, words. 
 
 "But do you think the life of those 
 Whom we will have to call our foes, 
 
 Will shine so bright that it will show 
 A contrast, so that all may know 
 Who are for God and who for us? 
 You just let me attend that muss. 
 I will mix them so none can tell 
 Who is ours; or, doing well, 
 Who for heaven, and who for hell. 
 They will be few and far between, 
 Who do not wish some act to screen. 
 
 Should there be some, 'twill vex me not, 
 For I possess a smirching pot; 
 And I will have some artists, too, 
 Who paint the false as if 'twere true 
 Artists who have both skill and time 
 To daub the pure with any crime, 
 Or villify with filthy slime; 
 Artists who have skill and wit 
 To tone their stuff so it will stick;
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 219 
 
 And stick it will so none may know 
 It from my smirching pot did flow. 
 
 For should a jury criticise, 
 
 A jury I will have advise 
 
 My artists; yes, it will take brains 
 To use my pot of caustic stains; 
 
 But I have got them. You will find 
 
 No men with deeper grasp of mind, 
 
 No men more famed in jurists' skill, 
 Than those who do the places fill 
 
 Of daubers, artists of my head, 
 
 Who smear the living and the dead. 
 'Tis sometimes easier to put on 
 The daubing when the life is gone. 
 
 This you know is not hard to do; 
 
 'Twill bother neither me nor you. 
 Are we not experts all 
 
 In words, words, words? 
 
 "But I have said, God can not put 
 Into the language of the brute 
 
 Thoughts which my scrutiny will bear; 
 Stupendous thoughts like ours would tear 
 
 And burst all human words. 
 God can not prove he does exist; 
 Words would but add unto the mist, 
 
 If ever he should try. 
 He says that he is the I Am, 
 Grasp that, O unbelieving man, 
 
 The language of the sky. 
 But long as I have get the pull 
 Upon the inside of the fool, 
 
 He will answer Wisdom's cry 
 By whimpering 'how' or 'why.' 
 'Tis the heart that we must rule, 
 For 'tis the heart that makes the fool.
 
 220 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Words never either can improve; 
 
 Too short the time betwixt the move 
 
 Of birth and death; 
 Too short the time of life, 
 Too short the wordy strife 
 
 That men call breath. 
 
 They come, they gleam, they go, 
 
 Just like a flake of snow. 
 Shall three-score years and ten, 
 Or age of common men, 
 
 Form base to measure heaven? 
 
 What angle would be given? 
 No; words will never, never bear 
 The truths we with the angels share. 
 
 Should they from age to age 
 
 Draw wisdom from each sage, 
 Each knowing what the former taught, 
 Let knowledge grow; yet, what of that? 
 
 Can ever words enthrall 
 
 The thoughts we here have all? 
 For always, even at their best, 
 They nothing knew they only guessed. 
 
 And then their very wisest men 
 
 Will they care for religious ken? 
 Or, in their wisdom, will they place 
 It as a foible of the race; 
 
 And all such classify and label 
 
 As feelings mixed with ancient fable? 
 And which, no doubt, had done some good 
 Although it must be understood, 
 
 All such could easily be explained, 
 
 Though God and I be never named. 
 That's right I say that is right. 
 
 "Now I will tell you of a thought 
 That through my mind has often wrought:
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 221 
 
 Jehovah will place the wisest men 
 
 No nearer truth than the lowest of them; 
 
 At least, he will expect of me 
 
 That I place them so they will not see. 
 I think I am old enough to know 
 How to complete that work below. 
 
 How does fifty years with my age compare? 
 
 If there is aught in years, I have my share. 
 
 Millions yes, billions yet, all I must keep 
 Is a trifling baby, who scarcely can creep; 
 A baby in years, but amusingly deep. 
 
 Has it come to this ? Am I so small ? 
 
 Fooling with microbes ! Is this all ? 
 Is this my grand final? 
 
 Never! never! I swear. 
 Can my heart cease to hate? 
 Hate, my heart is thy lair. 
 
 Like one drop of water teeming with life, 
 
 With its microbes by millions forever at strife; 
 Should that drop dry up or evaporate, 
 Who cares? Whom does it exasperate? 
 
 This earth will dry up, I know it; it must; 
 
 Then when all the microbe millions are dust, 
 
 I'll be out of a job. Ah ! What will be then, 
 When there is no one to fool, not even these 
 men? 
 
 Is this our grand final? Only one little ball? 
 
 There are millions of planets is this one our all? 
 The whole thing is a farce, I will leave it to you ; 
 Have we had any chance to show what we 
 can do? 
 
 Had this virus spread to the planets and stars, 
 
 And not been restrained by ethereal bars, 
 
 Then we might have shown in a decent way 
 The prowess of sin, and made such a display
 
 222 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 That the records of heaven would not be ashamed, 
 As they will when this microbe business is named. 
 I have little doubt, were it not for sin, 
 Many a planet had readily taken in 
 The surplus, which this beastlike God 
 Had reared in this his first abode; 
 
 And probably the stars would swarm 
 With men, had I not done them harm. 
 And had they lived on every ball, 
 Their number would not be so small; 
 But would the sum of all the living 
 Ever equal the third of heaven? 
 
 "Was this God's plan? It must have been; 
 But you know the changes we have seen. 
 
 No emigrants have left the earth, 
 
 With song and shout of joy and mirth; 
 No stellar strand has welcomed men, 
 And the virus of sin along with them. 
 
 I knew all the time it was no use, 
 
 So I never tried; 'twould have been the abuse 
 Of time to have thought of such a thing 
 It takes more than faith to give them wing. 
 
 What effect would it had, had I dared to try? 
 
 Could I steal a permit from on high? 
 When we do all we can, all we can do 
 Is just what we are now permitted to. 
 
 For might is right might is always right. 
 
 That's what I said. 
 
 To make me feel small, the whole thing is arranged ; 
 Had the Devil a chance, it might have been changed. 
 
 So with carnage and crime we have kept them 
 down, 
 
 And there still is room on earth's old crown.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 223 
 
 "And now what is next? What is next, do you say? 
 
 But my mind wanders far, far away; 
 Into outer space have I taken flight, 
 And tried to explore the gloom of the night, 
 
 To see what is beyond. I had to come back, 
 
 For beyond and beyond there was nothing, in fact; 
 That is, 'twas beyond all the power of my might 
 To explore the gross darkness forever in sight. 
 
 But there may be beyond, where Jehovah still reigns, 
 
 And another heaven and hell maintains. 
 
 I would give up my crown as the prince of evil, 
 For a five minutes' talk with that other Devil. 
 
 "But with all his might how it makes me grin, 
 And gives me a singular feeling within 
 
 When I think we have men so befogged in mist, 
 God can not prove to them that he does exist. 
 What is might, when it comes to a matter of brain? 
 We have muddled their heads so never again 
 Can men see God by pure Reason alone, 
 Or grasp the full plan how he does atone. 
 Can man tell what is truth? Can he tell what are lies, 
 When his addled brain muddles our latest surprise? 
 He will swallow it down, it matters not 
 That the concept contains no traces of thought. 
 He will swear not to think, but believe what's been said 
 By our representatives, living or dead. 
 
 We will have our followers here to expound 
 Words that both heaven and hell would astound. 
 For would you believe I can take an ass, 
 Just from the pasture and fresh from the grass, 
 And with proper vestments, or even without, 
 
 A preacher of I will turn him out ; 
 
 And that donkey's bray will be somebody's creed 
 Their solace of heart and incentive to deed. 

 
 224 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Do you say, 'They could not understand a bray'? 
 
 Who said they would ? Religion is not run that way. 
 Not a soul of them knows. Sin hath so muddled their 
 
 brain, 
 That even pure truth to them seems insane. 
 
 Could they understand, 'twould be all off with us; 
 
 We can easily keep their heads in a muss. 
 I can take a jackass, or even a jenny 
 It matters not which, not the toss of a penny 
 
 And have them (oh, does a jenny bray?) 
 
 Speak quick, some fellow, some one say 
 Sit down. It matters not. By my wisdom's might, 
 Whatever the noise, it will be all right. 
 
 'Twill be some one's creed; the less reason it shows, 
 
 But reflects the acumen of one who knows. 
 'Twill take brains, you know, to belong to our cult. 
 Not a matter of babies, but for the adult 
 
 For mature minds for those who can think; 
 
 With the lights of my cranium I'll give them the 
 wink. 
 
 "Yes, I have said God can not prove 
 Though without him none ever can move 
 That he exists, by words to man, 
 Much less all of Salvation's plan. 
 Not only so; strange creatures they 
 Those busy fireflies of a day 
 
 Can not prove beyond a doubt 
 That they themselves exist. 
 Words always other words can rout 
 
 In themes like this. 
 Not only so; the crazy fools 
 Have been so long our abject tools, 
 Some of them absolutely will 
 Consider now themselves but nil,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 22$ 
 
 Or some part of a general mass. 
 But how it ever came to pass, 
 
 They know not, and but little care; 
 
 The masses their religion share. 
 Our masterpieces these are, sure 
 Fools wed to folly, straight and pure. 
 
 They careless trade their souls away 
 
 For passing pleasures of a day. 
 What is His sorrow unto them? 
 These careless, pleasure-loving men! 
 
 Have they not troubles of their own? 
 
 Why, then, should they e'er gaze upon 
 
 That bruised form a-hanging there? 
 If they were told, could they conceive 
 From what He would their souls relieve? 
 
 Some will the situation grasp, 
 
 Weigh everything; and yet so fast 
 Will be my grip, they will decide 
 With us forever to abide. 
 
 "Now I will tell you of a thing 
 That should a thrill of pleasure bring; 
 
 It counts for us a double shot, 
 
 And comes from neither plan nor plot; 
 Yet it will swell our aggregate, 
 When we take stock in some far-off date; 
 
 God only gets his so-called friends 
 
 When these are in, his count then ends; 
 While we take in both friend and foe 
 We are more liberal below. 
 
 There's nothing narrow about us; 
 
 About trifles who would fuss? 
 Let them come we will embrace 
 With warm welcome give them place. 
 
 To witness heaven and hell I call; 
 
 None e'er can say that I am small. 
 15 

 
 226 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Each phantom dream and fancy faith 
 
 All orthodox even "the Lord saith" 
 
 Are welcome. 
 
 No doubt some of you have seen 
 A butcher slowly driving in 
 
 The fatted steers into the pen, 
 
 Where he would soon make meat of them; 
 And how reluctantly they went, 
 As deep foreboding his intent, 
 
 Until some steer, trained them to lead, 
 
 Led them where he could do the deed. 
 
 Think you that man, with heart of steel, 
 Would spare that ox, or would he feel 
 
 One qualm of mercy when his pet 
 
 In course of time its own fate met? 
 
 So 'tis with us. There's many a man 
 Will work for us, hard as he can; 
 
 Will work, and toil, and plan, and sweat, 
 
 Like a demon from the pit. 
 
 Some there will be, not quite so rash, 
 Who never let a good chance pass 
 
 To pull for us, by word or deed, 
 
 Our glorious cause to onward speed. 
 Some there will be, more quiet yet, 
 Who still will help along a bit. 
 
 For all such cattle we'll make room 
 
 Be waiting for them at the tomb. 
 
 We'll crash the ax into their brain 
 Did they delight in causing pain? 
 
 Surely at this they could not kick; 
 
 They have done worse, and called it wit. 
 You know when once that stn 
 Their brute part entered in, 
 
 It made them every one 
 
 Where common blood does run,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 227 
 
 Lunatic more or less; 
 
 Some mild, some in a mess ; 
 But all must have the taint, 
 Each sinner and each saint; 
 
 And what view they may take, 
 
 What disposition make, 
 When all the facts have been 
 Submitted, will be seen. 
 
 I would not risk a guess 
 
 What they will do, much less 
 Predict. One thing is sure: 
 No brain in them is pure; 
 
 All muddled, mussed, unclean, 
 
 Lunatic, loose, gangrene; 
 All crippled in the head 
 Hastening to join the dead. 
 
 Yes ; dead in part at best, 
 
 Awaiting the inquest. 
 When I with self assimilate, 
 When 'tis I who instigate, 
 
 These crazy youth 
 
 Would prune the very universe of God 
 To suit their caliber, 
 
 And call that truth. 
 
 "Just think! these are the ones 
 Whom God now calls his sons. 
 
 Just think! that these are they 
 
 Who are matched 'gainst us to-day. 
 These are they whom we must fight. 
 Well, hell is certainly all right; 
 
 We will pack the abyss tightly 
 
 With myriads of the mighty. 
 But oh, the insult given 
 Damning insult from heaven
 
 228 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 To match us with those things 
 
 Cruel agony it brings. 
 I who, next the I Am, 
 Can earth and heaven scan 
 
 But, never mind, I brought him down; 
 
 See what is left the rest is flown. 
 Yet I will ever nurse despair, 
 And chance to meet him soon elsewhere. 
 
 "Now, when a careless hand into the ocean deep 
 Tosses a pebble, do not the wavelets creep 
 
 To every shore? Does there the influence stop? 
 
 Or does the thoughtless act which made the pebble drop 
 Affect the ether to the furthest star 
 Infinitesimally the whole creation jar? 
 
 Now this I thought eons long ago, 
 
 And pondered oft still half believe 'tis so: 
 
 Should I into the ocean of God's love now cast 
 Sin's mountain, would not the influence last 
 
 Till every spirit felt the fearful chill, 
 
 And love (all-powerful once), would vanish and be nil? 
 Sure 'twas a poison should have wrought and 
 
 wrought 
 However slight the attack, there was no antidote. 
 
 I pondered thus and thought: How could I ever dream 
 
 To see my God nailed to a wooden beam ? 
 
 See you the point? What avails wisdom now? 
 'Tis death alone can crown the victor's brow. 
 
 O death! death! Now what is left for me? 
 
 Nothing; but that all may see 
 
 That I next to Jehovah am in might, 
 Wisdom, and will power, never speaking right. 
 
 Will any say 'twas weakness, carelessness or sloth 
 
 That made me lose but that for both 
 
 God and me, 'twas fight unto the death?
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 22Q 
 
 This was the only way he could the victory win; 
 
 'Twas only thus that he could conquer sin. 
 Who dreamed his love had such inventive power? 
 Who dreamed the sight we see this hour? 
 
 Again is love all-powerful, even though the arm 
 
 Of God stood not behind its potent charm. 
 
 "What think I now? 
 These are battle lines that crease my brow. 
 
 Should light still onward spread, 
 
 Illume the crazy head; 
 Lightning obey their call, 
 And carry words to all; 
 
 And as each morning breaks, 
 
 Each one the truth partakes; 
 And as the rolling ball 
 Brings night and rest to all; 
 
 Yet, on the other side, 
 
 Men active deeds bestride; 
 If words on words should rush 
 Into the shady hush, 
 
 Into the silent night, 
 
 With speed as swift as light; 
 Should human words convey 
 The experience of each day, 
 
 So that when men awake, 
 
 They of the truth can take; 
 So they the words can read, 
 Describing every deed 
 
 Which on the earth is done, 
 
 When lighted by the sun; 
 Think you that I would give in 
 With folded arms see truth win? 
 
 No; I would see that every word 
 
 Was by a proper censor curbed; 

 
 230 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 None flashed so quick, but I could tell 
 If it might suit my purpose well; 
 
 And every truth would surely be 
 
 Garbled until it suited me. 
 And know you not that men may then 
 Say sin no evil brought to them; 
 
 That misery and sin were not, 
 
 Nor ever had been such a blot 
 
 On earth's fair face; 
 Or if it had, 'twas soon explained 
 Without your servant being named? 
 
 Even this specimen of woe, 
 
 With his arms now stretched out so, 
 Will as the centuries roll on, 
 And time a hazy mist has thrown 
 Around this deed; 
 
 And when the time appears to .come, 
 
 That the Spirit and the Son 
 The darkness chase from off the globe, 
 And science and light have their abode 
 
 With men, then you may hear them laughing 
 say, 
 
 Flushed with the pleasures of the day, 
 That this that now your eyes behold, 
 Even as a myth was growing old; 
 
 That the impression it had made 
 
 Had been for good perhaps did aid 
 The evolving power of time or some such stuff 
 In making this earth good enough 
 For men to live. 
 
 If the myth story will not do, 
 
 Then let them say that Christ outgrew 
 
 The times in which he lived; 
 That he a pre-developed man 
 Had lived; but as the ages ran,
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 231 
 
 The time had come when they could see 
 
 He had but lived as live should he, 
 And that his death, howe'er described, 
 Was but a romantic suicide. 
 
 What care I, then? What care I now? 
 
 So not to Him the knee they bow ; 
 If they will not bow to Him 
 Whose they are, in the reckoning. 
 
 I this whole world before Him spread; 
 
 Offered to make of Him its head ; 
 No cross nor shame would then He see 
 Only He must bow to me. 
 
 This I had the gall to ask; 
 
 Nothing like trying, though a task. 
 Had I this morning tried that game, 
 When he was suffering with shame, 
 
 What chance had I or ever had 
 
 To tempt a God do what is bad? 
 But 'tis so different with man; 
 He will grasp everything he can; 
 
 He will take Christ, the world, and me. 
 
 Will he? Well, you wait and see. 
 Surely either one would be 
 Enough for such as he. 
 
 But all such crowds are ours by right, 
 
 And we will pack them out of sight. 
 
 "But should the truth still spread, 
 Awake the living dead, 
 
 In part, at least, and find 
 
 That even in their mind 
 They have from slight disease 
 A method of release 
 
 By will power, or some such; 
 
 Or even should they rush
 
 Into the presence of the King, 
 
 And real relief by faith should bring; 
 
 Or should the power partly return, 
 
 Preserved them ere I made them mourn, 
 t)o you believe that would be bad, 
 And that before his cross they glad 
 Would kneel? 
 
 Just watch me if they do, 
 
 And you will find 'tis true 
 All else they may do anything 
 But not to kneel before their King. 
 
 That is where I draw the line; 
 
 And they are willing slaves of mine. 
 With placid face I will array 
 Words to make it clear as day. 
 
 What? I care not what, as long as they 
 
 Kneel not before that cross. 
 
 "But should the light still spread, 
 Awake the living dead, 
 
 And wisdom thus enhance, 
 
 And science thus advance, 
 Until the curse of sin, 
 Lost Eden's medicine 
 
 The toil for daily bread 
 
 Should pleasure yield instead; 
 Should wisdom grow apace, 
 Until not one of all the race 
 
 Should have to toil at all 
 
 To live upon this ball; 
 Think you, then, that I would leave, 
 And from all curse grant them reprieve? 
 
 No; I would see that none should live 
 
 Who will not to me true homage give ; 
 That none should either buy or sell, 
 Who will not of me most cheerfully tell.
 
 Oh, had it not been that the curse 
 
 Of toil kept men from growing worse, 
 Long time ago they would have been 
 Wiped from the earth, and would be seen 
 
 Only in hell. But never mind; 
 
 If God to that way is inclined 
 And he must be, if he would demonstrate 
 The laws which govern love and hate 
 
 He must bring all round again, 
 
 As good as when he first made men. 
 When toil is all removed from them, 
 A critical time it will be then; 
 
 'Twill be the same as 'twas at first, 
 
 When I the whole arrangement burst. 
 But oh, between that time and now 
 Millions on millions we shall stow 
 Into hell's gorge 
 
 What crowds on crowds of souls, 
 
 To live as long as time rolls, 
 
 Hell will absorb! 
 Awake! plot! scheme and fight! 
 Be at it day and night! 
 
 Never let up! 
 
 Think what a cup 
 
 Those who fail must win; 
 For our opponent now 
 Is none but God; then how, 
 
 If we succeed at all, 
 
 And many souls enthrall, 
 We must labor we must try 
 Never, never will we say die. 
 
 "But things are not as they used to be a million years ago, 
 Or ten million times ten million years. And why is it so? 

 
 234 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Why are we here? Why did I call this conclave? 
 Why? 
 
 Why did I summon you? Was it not I? 
 
 See that dead God! Think you 'twas he? 
 Well, if you here have nothing learned, 
 Has there anything you harmed? 
 
 But take this thought along with you 
 
 It may succeed when things look blue 
 
 Chances to win are very few, 
 When men are good as they can be. 
 Think of that forbidden tree, 
 
 And Adam spotless without sin, 
 
 How a woman ruined him. 
 Take the hint when the fish are shy, 
 Use the shimmering wings of a female fly. 
 
 When men seem to have all they can desire, 
 
 Try the game that in Eden caught their sire. 
 'Twill cause lots of heart trouble, if nothing more, 
 And many millions land on hell's barren shore. 
 
 Now scatter out! be false and true, 
 
 My vassals brave, ye motley crew." 
 
 At this command, the outer band of elves 
 From microbes small expand themselves; 
 
 The inner circles buzz and hum, 
 
 And flutter upward to the sun. 
 At least, that is what you had said, 
 Could you have witnessed what we did, 
 
 As some for spheres, some living clay, 
 
 Each bitter demon hastes away. 
 And here I am. Now I have told 
 You of some things which were of old, 
 
 Also of things of recent date, 
 
 Where comrades met, coerced by Fate. 
 What other things would now you know ? 
 For time is short and I must go.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 235 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 Well; I never thought 
 When you at first the silence broke, 
 
 You would have told of time and space, 
 
 Of heaven and hell, the human race. 
 I only thought that you might give 
 Some glimpses of the way you live; 
 
 Of what you do when you're around; 
 
 As never can we catch the sound 
 Know when you are near or far away 
 Though we are interested every day. 
 
 Death: 
 
 Is that it? How was I to know, 
 When rashly you approached me so. 
 
 But what you wanted just to find 
 
 Some thought from the angelic mind ; 
 
 And that when you were musing 'round, 
 Some puzzling problems you had found, 
 
 Such as : "Does highest liberty imply 
 
 Temptation's right for us to lie?" 
 
 "Was it only thus that God could make 
 
 The highest beings he create?" 
 "That the power to do right or wrong 
 
 Marks creatures nearer to the throne 
 
 Than those to whom sin was unknown, 
 
 And virtually unknowable?" 
 Or, "Was it thus that sin must be 
 Exposed to all eternity; 
 
 Only by letting it expand, 
 
 And sow and reap on every hand?" 
 For God at once the sin perceived, 
 That instant it was first conceived 
 In Satan's breast.
 
 236 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Then must he let it grow and grow, 
 
 Till each intelligence will know 
 
 And see the awful thing. 
 And must the only Son of God 
 Not only know, but have the rod 
 Inflicted on himself. 
 
 This is what really staggers us 
 
 In pondering this awful muss. 
 Oft in my dreaming I suspect 
 Some way perhaps this may connect 
 
 With Sin's first permit from the throne; 
 
 But, then, I may be right or wrong. 
 
 For it was done to save from death 
 An endless death, eternal death; 
 
 Not a mere stopping of the breath, 
 
 But ever, ever-living death; 
 A living spectacle to keep 
 Eternal ages pure and sweet. 
 
 Oh, do you think the time you live 
 
 Is long enough so you can give 
 
 A glance at vast eternity? 
 Or even the whole time that sin 
 Runs riot is worth reckoning, 
 Compared to all eternity? 
 
 Or do such thoughts ne'er bother you, 
 
 And seem as things dull and untrue? 
 Or is it as I oft have thought, 
 Even when the truth to you is brought 
 
 Your mind has been so clogged by sin, 
 
 Open it will not to let truth in? 
 
 It will not, or it can not which? 
 Sin has your mind at such a pitch, 
 
 The truth you can not grasp at sight; 
 
 Wanton, you warp the beams of light.
 
 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 237 
 
 The highest grasp of mortal ken 
 
 Hardly reveals the way to men; 
 Scarcely reveals the way to heaven 
 Through mist and doubt the glimpse is given. 
 
 And is it so? Yes, it must be. 
 
 You mortals scarce the truth can see; 
 Benumbed by ages of decay, 
 You scarce can tell the rightful way; 
 
 Your highest grasp, howe'er you strain, 
 
 Can never make the way seem plain; 
 Always a dread, always a fear, 
 A doubt no brainy grasp can clear. 
 
 Yes, it is so. Your highest grasp- 
 Experience gathered from the past, 
 All you may read, what others say, 
 All you can learn in every way 
 
 Reveals not truth, that takes these all 
 
 And more; 
 
 'Tis only by the gift of God 
 You e'er can see the heavenly road. 
 
 Were it not so, then I were base; 
 
 No more could sport a demon's face; 
 False were I to our devilhood, 
 If what I told might do you good. 
 
 Then on with the dance, ye fireflies gay, 
 
 Ye midgets, living but a day; 
 On with the fun, dance in the light; 
 Ephemera, there is no night; 
 
 And you may even drug your mind, 
 
 If that is how you are inclined. 
 And so it is. I might have kept 
 All to myself, and you have slept, 
 
 And never dreamed of what you are 
 
 But kept on groveling on this star.
 
 238 DEATH AND THE REPORTER. 
 
 Really, that is the way to go 
 You need not do the best you know; 
 
 Few ever do, few ever will, 
 
 While Satan's crew retain their skill. 
 Just keep on in the good old way; 
 Let circumstances rule the day. 
 
 The night will come; we'll meet again. 
 
 Be good unto yourself till then. 
 Keep this to yourself don't write it down 
 Or you can not live in any town. 
 
 To us great Caesar's ghost, when on the way to 
 Hades, 
 
 Was only worth one-half two common ghosts ; 
 Uncouth, uncultured, and unknown. 
 
 Reporter: 
 
 Well, that fellow's gone. 
 
 I am alive, though cold as stone. 
 
 But what I missed! I might have scooped 
 
 Enough to fill a great big book. 
 All the murders had found out, 
 And lots of other stuff, no doubt. 
 
 But, then, whene'er I looked at him, 
 
 My blood ran chill! That hideous grin! 
 If ever I looked up to talk, 
 The shivers started down my back. 
 
 'Twas all that I could do to write 
 
 I never will forget this night.
 
 
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