St. J. Never directly; nor shall I preach it there. Not of the pulpit; of the stage, this theme Demands a crowded theatre and the mood Expectant, tyrannous of the gallery, not The mood submissive of the worshipper. Sir T. My nerves begin to tingle, telepaths Of coming wonder. Till I hear it all You shall not leave the theatre. [At the telephone] (Blyth, I stay Awhile. What do you say? What lady? Oh!-- My wife went home! Yes, you may go. My key? I have it. True. Goodnight.) Now, Gervase, speak As if it were the judgment-day! St. J. It is-- It always is; and could we hear it peal, Each moment, heavy with eternal doom, Thunders in every heart. Sir T. Then speak to me As one about to die. St. J. I speak as one About to live! Sir T. To one about to live! St. J. This question like an automatic rack Seized me and stretched me: "Will you teach a lie?" "Behold," I cried; "I have a tender heart-- "Soft-hearted am I; let a harder man "Confront this problem, lead the great revolt. "Though this of God and Sin and Heaven and Hell "Be now worn out, yet have I nothing new "To traffic for it: let a stronger man "Become protagonist and martyr; I "Already faint: let this cup pass from me." Oh it was good to say to broken hearts-- The faded women and the old worn men-- "Come unto me and I will give you rest." Sir T. 'Tis easy comforting the poor with heaven, And those that never tasted delicate meats, Soft music, murmurs, vintages mature, And savoury ecstasy of man and woman. St. J. Kings, conquerors, artists, poets, power and wealth Demand a concrete heaven, just like the poor.-- Still the rack wrenched me, "Will you teach a lie?" So tortured, I betook me to the east, The womb and cradle, nurse and school of thought, Of knowledge, poetry, religion, art. There in the desert, insufferable beams Their daily meaning smote through every sense; By night the deep immensity of heaven Revealed its wonder: all the centuries, The tattered stoles and finery of Time, Departed from me, and I knew myself Material in a Universe of pure Material substance, conscious mystery throned On the eternal moment that becomes For ever new. "This is for me," I thought: "Enough that one man once should so transcend: "Let the world now decay." But the last pangs Of Hell laid instant hold on me and put Me to the question: "Will you teach a lie?" "What must I teach?" I cried. "Teach thou the truth," The answer came, "the pure, material truth; "But firstly _know_ the truth about the lie." Sir T. What is the truth about it, Gervase?