Have we forgotten the vehemence with which
this arch-enemy drove the money kings from His sacred abode, saying
unto them: 'My house is a house of prayer, but ye have made it a den
of thieves,' and how we like sneaking cowards crawled away, and thus
our glorious scheme went by default?"
Then Blackana uttered his final appeal with all the swing of his mighty
body and the low vibrant thunder of his voice. "Back to your forts!
Oh, back! ye dormant hosts around me! Not in the strength of arms, but
with the subtlest webs that Hell can weave, and with the snares of
silent treachery. We need no stronger weapons, and for our dress we
will don sheep's clothing of the finest wool. Thus who amongst the
church can tell that we are not seeking her highest good? _Then as we
strike at the heart of voluntary offering in the church, so shall we
kill the spirit that gives it birth. The carcass of this dead spirit
unburied we shall drag through the church for ages, and the germs of
disease arising therefrom will bring more death into the ranks of our
foes than all our weapons of warfare ever did."_
Blackana instantly resumed his former shape, and "while I was musing
the fire burned.
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