A cloud passed by the moon, and no one spoke, Till suddenly her silver spear-head broke The cloudy targe, and leaning from the place She has in heaven struck with light the face Of Pheidias’ god. And Paul cried “Even thus Ye have your answer, superstitious Who set this idol up, and worshipped it In darkness, and behold the face is lit With fire from on high. A period Is set to ignorance and to the god Ye ignorantly worship, and the stone Or marble of the god ye have not known, Changes beneath my hand and in my speech Unto the living god I know and preach. Do you rejoice because that Socrates Died facing death and dark? I tell you these In Christ are conquered. Death has lost her sting, The dark her victory, and angels sing At the empty mouth of the grave, because my king Has made the grave a refuge and protection From the pain of living by His resurrection. Socrates sleeps; the god he did not know Sleeps with him, and long since the grasses grow Above their resting place, but flowers reach In vain their roots to find Him whom I preach. He is not there, but though we darkly see, As in a glass, his immortality Waits for us all, and beckons in the place Where we who find Him see Him face to face. Socrates, to death a prisoner, did well, But death was all; Christ by the miracle Of the open grave, his deity forsaken, For all the world has death a prisoner taken. Nor Socrates in vain all sacrificed If here his fruitless death has pled for Christ.” Dionysius the Areopagite Cried loudly unto Paul “Were it not right To shatter on his marble pedestal This idol that has stood for death?” and Paul Answered “What say ye brethren, for His sake Who vanquished death shall we the idol break?” But even as Paul raised his hand the light Faded upon the sculptured face. The night Cloaked it, and, though Paul pressed, the threatened blow Hung in the air and fell not. For a low Strange glory changed upon the face, and seemed A face that Paul had seen before or dreamed To see when near Damascus, and instead Of Pheidias’ god unknown another Head Sorrowful-sweet on Paul astonished shone And, ere his threatening hand could fall, was gone. But a voice whispered “Art thou after all Thine unknown God still persecuting, Saul?”