THE CHOICE by CHARLES WILLIAMS

WHEN I was weary
And sick and poor,
Christ and Antichrist
Came to my door,—
Baal of the flies
From his marshy sell
And from the high hills
Immanuel,
Each with a promise,
Each for a guide,
Since amid falling walls
I might no more abide.

'Here is drink to comfort,
To ease, to bid arise,
To strengthen for thy journey,'
Quoth Baal of the flies.
'Since thou canst dwell no more
In thy wrecked abode,
Come, and ere thou goest
On an infinite road,
Prove all thy heart's content
With me for an hour,
Ere thou travel forward
In comfortable power.'

'Here is drink for promise,'
Quoth Immanuel,
'Of that which shall await thee
In the holy well
At the joyous heavenly end
Of an infinite way.
Since thou canst dwell no more
In this wrecked To-day,
Come, and when the journey
At last is overspent
Thou with me shalt understand
All thy content.'

Then I fell before them,
Crying: 'Ah my lords,
Who am I to compass
Such immortal words?
Is thy satisfaction
Of such full avail
It can give me longing,
O my master Baal,
For any moment
Of any life at all
In the melancholy shadows
That about thee fall?
Not for thy temptations
From heaven did I flee!
Talk thou with thy lovers
Lord, depart from me!

'Nor, though not by Satan
Shall my drink be spiced,
Dare I touch thy goblet,
O my master Christ!
Have I ever prayed thee
To be among thy saints,
At whose crucifixion
My poor soul faints?
Thou with peaks and chasms
Ere the long way end,
Art thou that Forgetfulness
I would have for friend?
Not to find thy martyrdom
Have I fled from hell;
Thou hast many heroes,
Bid me farewell!'

Low I fell before them,
Crying: 'Ah my lords,
Who am I to compass
Your immortal words?
This have all things taught me,
To desire no more
Than to be the dust again
That I was before!
But who of all the high gods
In heaven or hell
Hath such a draught as I would buy,
Hath such draught to sell?'

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