Chapter_532

2 0 00

You, Fitch, are known to be a Deacon⁠—

A shining light, a holy beacon

Upon the walls of Zion, blazing

With an effulgency amazing.

And yet, I think, between the two

(Bob Ingersoll, I mean, and you)

A man in want of light to read

Between the lines of nature’s Creed

Would rather scrutinize Creation

By Robert’s clear illumination,

Than blind his eyes with smoke and vapor

From your infernal sputtering taper.

Though Ingersoll, perchance, had not

Of wisdom or of truth one jot,

I’d rather miss with him the clew

To life than follow it with you.