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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

Sacrilege

By Thomas Stephens Collier (1842–1893)

BESIDE the wall, and near the massive gate

Of the great temple in Jerusalem,

The legionary, Probus stood elate,

His eager clasp circling a royal gem.

It was an offering made by some dead king

Unto the great Jehovah, when the sword

Amid his foes had mown a ghastly ring,

Helped by the dreaded angel of the Lord.

There, on his rival’s crest, among the slain,

Through the red harvest it had clearly shone,

Lighting the grimness of the sanguine plain

With splendors that had glorified a throne.

Above the altar of God’s sacred place,

A watchful star, it lit the passing years,

With radiance falling on each suppliant’s face,

Gleaming alike in love’s and sorrow’s tears,

Till swept the war-tide through the sunlit vales

Leading from Jordan, and the western sea

And the fierce host of Titus filled the gales

With jubilant shouts and songs of victory.

Then came the day when over all the walls

The Romans surged, and Death laughed loud and high,

And there was wailing in the palace halls,

And sound of lamentations in the sky.

Torn from its place, it lay within the hand

Of Probus, whose keen sword had rent a way,

With rapid blows, amid the priestly band

Whose piteous prayers moaned through that dreadful day.

And there, beside the wall, he stopped to gaze

Upon the fortune, that would give his life

The home and rest that come with bounteous days,

And bring reward for toil and warlike strife.

There was no cloud in all Heaven’s lustrous blue,

Yet suddenly a red flash cleft the air,

And the dark shadow held a deeper hue,—

A dead man, with an empty hand, lay there.

The Youth’s Companion. 1883.