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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


The Times


  The times are not degenerate. ManТs faith
Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed
Can take from the immortal soul the need
  Of that supreme Creator, God. 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 scorn.
That night is past. He hails a fairer morn,
  And knows himself a something all divine;
No humble worm whose heritage is sin,
But, born of God, he feels the Christ within.

  Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time,
But deep his reverence for that mighty force.
That occult working of the great all Source,
  Which makes the present era so sublime.
Religion now means something high and broad,
And man stood never half so near to God.



Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
  1. The Birth of the Opal
  2. The Awakening (I love the tropics, where sun and rain)
  3. The Breaking of Chains
  4. The Chain
  5. The Coming Man


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