e
Rose the world's miracle of marble white,
The Temple of the goddess worshiped there.
Day follows night and night the busy day;
The generations come and go apace,
The child hath left his toys, and in the whirl
Of years is now a grandsire by the hearth,
And now hath passed away and is forgot.
Two hundred years are fled, when, lo! one day
A mason finds the moss-grown wall of stone
Built by the cruel Decius, strong and high,
And knowing not it is a sepulchre,
He quarries it to build a palace wall.
And so the light of day beams in again
Upon the youths, who wake to grateful prayer
That blessed day has come so soon again,
(For all their sleep seemed but an hour's delight)
And Malchus, cautiously descends the mount,
To buy their bread in pagan Ephesus.
Yet much he fears the tyrant Decius
And the rough buffets of the Roman Guard.
When, lo! descending to the city's gate,
He sees a golden cross thereon upreared;
And passing through the portals in a daze,
He wanders on in wonder through the ways.
Where are the images of all the gods--
The silver semblance of Diana fair?
He sees them not, but everywhere he views
The sacred symbol of the Savior's death,
And hears the name of Christ on every tongue.
At last he enters in where bread is sold,
And gives in payment there a silver coin.
"It is an ancient coin," the baker said,
"And bears the image of old Decius."
"Nay you but jest," said Malchus, "where is he?"
"Dead these two hundred years," the man replied,
And, deeming that the youth had lost his mind,
He sent him to the Bishop of the town.
The Bishop heard the marvelous story through,
And being deeply learned in history,
Recalled the memory of the noble seven
And their sad fate in days of Decius.
Then coming to the rocky mountain cave,
(Led up by Malchus all the winding way,)
He witnessed all the truth of what was told.
Nor lacked he faith in God, for he believed
All wondrous things with Him were possible.
But ere by letter he could tell the tale
Unto the Christian Emperor, the youths
Sank into blessed dreams again, and waked
Within a crystal city where was peace.

* * * * * *

I think we all are dreamers like the seven;
The morning rises from her silver throne
And smiles upon the hours we call our own.
The minutes brim like drops of golden wine
O'er Life's o'erflowing cup; we see the shine
Of perfect day on every path we scan;
And Fame's fair vaulted Temple on the span
Of rainbow arc