"How very hard it is to be
A Christian!"

Up to the thirteenth section it is an argument between the speaker, who
is possessed of much faith but has a distinct tendency to pessimism, and
another, who has a sceptical but also a hopeful turn of mind, respecting
Christianity, its credibility, and how its doctrines fit human nature
and affect the conduct of life. After keen discussion the argument
returns to the lament, common to both disputants: how very hard it is to
be, practically, a Christian. The speaker then relates, on account of
its bearing on the discussion, an experience (or vision, as he leaves us
free to imagine) which once came to him. Three years before, on an
Easter-Eve, he was crossing the common where stood the chapel referred
to by their friend (the poem thus, and thus only, links on to
_Christmas-Eve_.) As he walked along, musingly, he asked himself what
the Faith really was to him; what would be his fate, for instance, if he
fell dead that moment? And he said to himself, jestingly enough, why
should not the judgment-day dawn now, on Easter-morn?

"And as I said
This nonsense, throwing back my head
With light complacent laugh, I found
Suddenly all the midnight round
One fire. The dome of heaven had stood
As made up of a multitude
Of handbreadth cloudlets, one vast rack
Of ripples infinite and black,
From sky to sky. Sudden there went,
Like horror and astonishment,
A fierce vindictive scribble of red
Quick flame across, as if one said
(The angry scribe of Judgment) 'There--
Burn it!' And straight I was aware
That the whole ribwork round, minute
Cloud touching cloud beyond compute,
Was tinted, each with its own spot
Of burning at the core, till clot
Jammed against clot, and spilt its fire
Over all heaven, which 'gan suspire
As fanned to measure equable,--
Just so great conflagrations kill
Night overhead, and rise and sink,
Reflected. Now the fire would shrink
And wither off the blasted face
Of heaven, and I distinct might trace
The sharp black ridgy outlines left
Unburned like network--then, each cleft
The fire had been sucked back into,
Regorged, and out its surging flew
Furiously, and night writhed inflamed,
Till, tolerating to be tamed
No longer, certain rays world-wide