Fighting

Here is a temple strangely wrought:         Within it I can see     Two spirits of a diverse thought         Contend for mastery.     One is an angel fair and bright,         Adown the aisle comes he,     Adown the aisle in raiment white,         A creature fair to see.     The other wears an evil mien,         And he hath doubtless slipt,     A fearful being dark and lean,         Up from the mouldy crypt.     Is that the roof that grows so black?         Did some one call my name?     Was it the bursting thunder crack         That filled this place with flame?     I move--I wake from out my sleep:         Some one hath victor been!     I see two radiant pinions sweep,         And I am borne between.     Beneath the clouds that under roll         An upturned face I see--     A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul         Was right well known to me!     A man's dead face! Away I haste         Through regions calm and fair:     Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste         The same celestial air.