Of old our fathers' God was real, Something they almost saw, Which kept them to a stern ideal And scourged them into awe. They walked the narrow path of right Most vigilantly well, Because they feared eternal night And boiling depths of Hell. Now Hell has wholly boiled away And God become a shade. There is no place for him to stay In all the world he made. The followers of William James Still let the Lord exist, And call him by imposing names, A venerable list. But nerve and muscle only count, Gray matter of the brain, And an astonishing amount Of inconvenient pain. I sometimes wish that God were back In this dark world and wide; For though some virtues he might lack, He had his pleasant side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR EPITAPH (ON A COMMONPLACE PERSON WHO DIED IN BED) by AMY LEVY THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE; ELECTION BALLAD by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY ODES IV, 7. TO TORQUATUS. DIFFUGERE NIVES by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS TO MICHAL: SONNETS AFTER MARRIAGE: 8. AFTER RONSARD by CHARLES WILLIAMS MINSTREL OF THE SUN by FREDERICK HENRY HERBERT ADLER |