"And it came to pass, that, as I made my journey and was come nigh unto Damascus, about noon . . ."

ST. PAUL.

WE saw the light at noonday, bright thro' the battle smoke,

Calm and clear 'mid the tumult we heard His voice that spoke

In blood was dipped His vesture, Faithful and True His word,

But now — our eyes are blinded — tell us, "Who art thou, Lord?'

Grey is the road to Damascus with fallen Empires' dust,

Might of itself corrupted, treasure by moth and rust,

Only there lives unchanging, first fruit of those who died,

Jesus the persecuted, Christ who was crucified.

We saw the light at noonday, and when we seemed to fail,

Pledged we our utmost farthing so that Thy Truth prevail,

But now — our eyes are holden, we cannot see Thy face

Nor hear Thy voice in the clamour of Senate and Market-place.

Old is the road to Damascus, pregnant its memories be:

"Naaman alone the chosen, tho' many were such as he,"

To conquer the pride that hindered a gift no wealth could win,

Then went he down to Jordan, washed and was cleansed therein.

We saw the light at noonday and buried our dead thereby,

Nameless, a King we laid him where Kings and Princes lie,

Royal, because a Servant who gave the best he knew,

Plead we again in his Silence, "What wilt Thou have us do?"

Straight is the road to Damascus, but wide for such as dare

Transfigure an Empire's gospel, and preach of Service there,

Fetter and cross for guerdon, would ye receive your sight?

Arise and go to Damascus, and Christ shall give you light.

["The St. Martin's Review."
Armistice Number, Nov. 1923.