The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | ||
[It is the fashion now for wits to be]
“The fool hath said in his heart, There
is no God.”—Ps. xiv. I.
It is the fashion now for wits to be
Without a God,
Except some Force behind the things we see,
Like heat or light or electricity;
And one is odd,
Among these Oracles, who still believes
In any God that thinks or loves or grieves.
Without a God,
Except some Force behind the things we see,
Like heat or light or electricity;
And one is odd,
Among these Oracles, who still believes
In any God that thinks or loves or grieves.
But there's a spirit, deep in the heart's core,
Of reverence,
Which somehow will not bow down to adore
The mightiest force in Nature; what is more,
I have a sense
Of being something greater far than those
Blind makers of the world which science knows.
Of reverence,
Which somehow will not bow down to adore
The mightiest force in Nature; what is more,
I have a sense
Of being something greater far than those
Blind makers of the world which science knows.
Worship I must, but may not worship aught
Which I can bind
And yoke to do me service, having caught
The secret of its power, with wonder fraught,
But without mind;
And while I comprehend it, I must be
Higher than that which comprehends not me.
Which I can bind
And yoke to do me service, having caught
The secret of its power, with wonder fraught,
But without mind;
And while I comprehend it, I must be
Higher than that which comprehends not me.
You do not need to worship? May be so;
I judge you not;
Only, they say, the dog that does not know
A master, like a savage wolf will grow,
Hating his lot,
And is a sorry brute, until he find
A mightier will than his, and nobler mind.
I judge you not;
Only, they say, the dog that does not know
A master, like a savage wolf will grow,
Hating his lot,
And is a sorry brute, until he find
A mightier will than his, and nobler mind.
And this would be the hapless lot of men
With out God's fear;
Their home would soon be as the wild beast's den,
All the fierce self resuming sway again;
And we should hear
But cries of wrath or hunger from the crowd,
Or pæans of self-worship vain and loud.
With out God's fear;
Their home would soon be as the wild beast's den,
All the fierce self resuming sway again;
And we should hear
But cries of wrath or hunger from the crowd,
Or pæans of self-worship vain and loud.
Save us from that self-worship! Poor, indeed,
Is he who knows
Nothing more worthy than himself to lead
His heart to purer thought and nobler deed
Than ever rose
From his self-contemplation, and to rouse
The soul to prayers and hymns and holy vows.
Is he who knows
Nothing more worthy than himself to lead
His heart to purer thought and nobler deed
Than ever rose
From his self-contemplation, and to rouse
The soul to prayers and hymns and holy vows.
The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | ||