He mapped for those who follow,
    The world in which we are—
“This famous town of Mansoul”
    That takes the Holy War.
Her true and traitor people,
    The gates along her wall,
From Eye Gate unto Feel Gate,
    John Bunyan showed them all.

All enemy divisions,
    Recruits of every class,
And highly-screened positions
    For flame or poison-gas;
The craft that we call modern,
    The crimes that we call new,
John Bunyan had ’em typed and filed
    In Sixteen Eighty-two.

Likewise the Lords of Looseness
    That hamper faith and works,
The Perseverance-Doubters,
    And Present-Comfort shirks,
With brittle intellectuals
    Who crack beneath a strain—
John Bunyan met that helpful set
    In Charles the Second’s reign.

Emmanuel’s vanguard dying
    For right and not for rights,
My Lord Apollyon lying
    To the State-kept Stocholmites,
The Pope, the swithering Neutrals,
    The Kaiser and his Gott—
Their roles, their goals, their naked souls—
    He knew and drew the lot.

Now he hath left his quarters,
    In Bunhill Fields to lie,
The wisdom that he taught us
    Is proven prophecy—
One watchword through our Armies
    One answer from our Lands:—
“No dealings with Diabolus
    As long as Mansoul stands!”

A pedlar from a hovel,
    The lowest of the low,
The Father of the Novel,
    Salvation’s first Defoe,
Eight blinded generations
    Ere Armageddon came,
He showed us how to meet it,
    And Bunyan was his name!