codex002489-032v

Optimism.
Ella W. Wilcox.

The times are not degenerate; man's faith
Mounts higher than of old. no crumbling
creed
Can take from the immortal soul its need
Of some thing greater than itself. The wraith
Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth
Fades, but to let us welcome new born truth.

Man may not worship at the ancient shrine
Prone on his face, in self accusing storm,
That night is passed; he hails a finer morn,
And knows him self a some thing, half divine.
No humble worm whose heritage, is sin
But part of God, he feels the Christ with in.

No fierce Jehovah, with a frowning mien
He worships. Nay, thro love, & not through fear
He seeks the truth and finds its source is near.
And fears, and owns the power of things unseen
Where once he scoffed, Gods great primeval plan
Is just unfolding - in the soul of man.