Remembering

After Pat Robertson's most recent blunder (re- Ariel Sharon), I remain puzzled at what right-wing evangelical groups have to offer humanity. I mean, about God.

A few years ago I was involved in a very difficult, perhaps life threatening, event in my life. One day, I heard a Scottish preacher read this poem by Robert Browning over the radio. It gave me an abiding strength that, to this day, I cannot account for. I could never find it in any collection of the poet's works, probably because( as I later discovered) it was a fragment of a larger poem. By accident, I found it on the net a few weeks ago.

'A Martyr's Epitaph' from (`Easter Day'.)

I was born sickly, poor, and mean,
A slave: no misery could screen
The holders of the pearl of price
From Caesar's envy; therefore twice
I fought with beasts, and three times saw
My children suffer by his law;
At last my own release was earned:
I was some time in being burned,
But at the close a Hand came through
The fire above my head, and drew [10]
My soul to Christ, whom now I see.
Sergius, a brother, writes for me
This testimony on the wall --
For me, I have forgot it all.