At first, it was a struggle mild between
The pagan doctrines and the newer creeds,
Whose crazy devotees quite often sought
The crown of martyrdom, and therefore wrought
Insultingly to taunt and rouse the spleen
That oft in furious wrath its victim bleeds.
But paganism was a placid rill
Beside the roaring torrent of the new
And wild religion that its ruin sought;
And most of all its cruelty was taught
Unto it by the men of bloody will
Who did the work of the infernal crew.
When Satan's agents found no pagan foe,
They tore each other with tenfold delight;
There was no epithet too harsh to use,
There was no instrument of brute abuse
Severe enough to add unto the woe
Of brothers now grown hateful in their sight.
Such scenes the world had never known before,
So fierce did angry passion's billows toss;
Hell seemed let loose, and scarce a Heavenly ray
Shone in the hearts of men to light the way;
All virtue gone, or rotten to the core,
O'er all there rose the dark and bloody cross.
But brutal passion cannot always rule;
Reaction comes with renovating sway;
The violence that may at first succeed
Quite soon returns to make its victims bleed;
Coercion is a sharp and treacherous tool—
A two-edged sword that cutteth either way.
For centuries the nations struggled on,
While reason scarcely gave a glimmering ray;
The rack, the faggot, and anon the sword,
Each played its part to teach the "Holy Word;"
While hated Science, pallid, weary, wan,
Amid the hosts of darkness skulked away.
Not idle was the Nazarene the while;
He marshaled on the other side of life
The hosts of gentle truth and reason mild,
Swaying with love the heart of man and child
To long for freedom and the rights that guile
Had trampled down amid intolerant strife.
The work was one of love, the progress slow,
For hell contended every inch of ground,
And, through the church, assaulted every thing
That wrought for good, and cat-like watched to spring
Upon whoever rose to strike a blow
To break the chains with which men's souls were bound.
Bearing the cross before them, hell's dark crowd
Rushed wildly on to crush each rising thought
That in the freedom-loving soul sought vent
In deed of daring, or, in speech intent
On firing other minds, was heard aloud;
In fear and hate the hosts of fury wrought.
Christ poured his consolation in the ear
Of every suffering soul, and fired the heart
To meet with resignation calm the fate
Imposed upon it by the powers of hate;
And every body slain let loose, to cheer,
A spirit nerved to play a noble part.