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I dreamed I stood upon a hill, and, lo!
The godly multitudes walked to and
Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitly clad,
With pious mien, appropriately sad,
While all the church bells made a solemn din --A fire-alarm to those who lived in sin.
Then saw I gazing thoughtfully below,
With tranquil face, upon that holy showA tall, spare figure in a robe of white,
Whose eyes diffused a melancholy light."God keep you, stranger," I exclaimed. "You
No doubt (your habit shows it) from afar;
And yet I entertain the hope that you,
Like these good people, are a Christian too."He raised his eyes and with a look so
It made me with a thousand blushes
Replied -- his manner with disdain was spiced:"What!
I a Christian?
No, indeed!
I'm Christ."
Ambrose Bierce
Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce (June 24, 1842– circa 1914) was an American short story writer, journalist, poet, and Civil War veteran. His book The De
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