Players, immortal Twain, and mortal one, Standing but fourteen steps upon life's stair; Boy and yet man, thinker of thoughts profound, Boy and yet man, dreamer of lofty dreams. Not solemn, save betimes, when hovered near Some winged inspiration from far worlds, Some great idea's all-subduing spell; Not melancholy--mirthful, loving life, And brimming o'er with health and wholesome glee. A stalwart spirit in a sturdy frame, Maturing unto future mightiness. Bowing to God, yet bending to no creed, Adoring not a loveless deity, That saved or damned regardless of desert, Ne'er reckoning the good or evil done; Loving and worshiping the God of love, The gracious God of reason and of right, Long-suffering and just and merciful, Meting to every work fit recompense, Yet giving more, far more, than merit's claim; Bowing to Him, but not to man-made gods, And shunning shameful strife where peace should dwell, He holds aloof from those degenerate sects, Bewildering Babel of conflicting creeds, And pondering the apostolic line, "Let any lacking wisdom, wisdom ask," In childlike faith, godlike humility, Resolves to prove the promise by the test. What pen can paint the marvel that befell? What tongue the wondrous miracle portray? Than theirs, the Vision's own, what voice proclaim Whose dual presence dimmed the noonday beam, Communing with him there, as friend with friend, And giving to that prayer reply of peace? Tell how, as Moses on the unknown Mount, From whom in rage fled baffled Lucifer, Who fain had guised him as the Son of God, And won the worship of that prophet pure;-- Tell how with gloom he strove ere glory dawned, And black despair met bright deliverance. Tell how, in heart of that sweet solitude, Within the silent grove, sequestered shade, While spirit hosts unseen spectators stood, Watching the simple scene's sublimity, Eternity high converse held with Time. Time, parent of the hovering centuries, Mother of dispensations, travailing, And bringing forth her last and mightiest child; Heaven's awful Sire, through him both Sire and Son, There blazoning the beginning of the End. * * * * * * * * * "'Twas from below!" Thus Bigotry in rage. "Nay, from above," Faith's simple, firm reply. "No vision is there now--the time is past." "But I have seen," affirms the youthful Seer. "God is a mystery, unknowable." "God is a man--I saw Him, talked with Him." "Man?" "Ay, of holiness--Exalted Man." A strife of words, of warring tongues, now waged, And weapons vied with words the truth to slay; Nor truth alone, but her brave oracle, A boy, by men, by neighborhoods, oppressed. The wrangling sects forgave--well nigh forgot Their former feuds and fears and jealousies; And, joining hands, as Pilate Herod joined, One guilty day when God stood man-condemned,