<h2><SPAN name="page113"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE TRAVELLER</h2>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bristling</span> with
steeples, high against the hill,<br/>
Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn<br/>
It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood.<br/>
The Traveller surveyed it with a smile.<br/>
‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of
peace;<br/>
Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord;<br/>
God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?’<br/>
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p>
<p class="poetry">The sudden shriek of whistles changed the
sound<br/>
From mellow music into jarring noise.<br/>
Then down the street pale hurrying children came,<br/>
And vanished in the yawning Factory door.<br/>
He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’<br/>
The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place.<br/>
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page114"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
114</span>Forth from two churches came two men, and met,<br/>
Disputing loudly over boundary lines,<br/>
Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts.<br/>
A haughty woman drew her skirts aside<br/>
Because her fallen sister passed that way.<br/>
The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed,<br/>
They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you,<br/>
Daring to interfere in private lives?’<br/>
The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’<br/>
(Christmas season, and every bell ringing.)</p>
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