  O ye who dare not trust the Soul To guide you in your heavenward way— Who turn from its divine control, Blind Superstition to obey— Know that at length shall come an hour, When darkness shall be changed to light, And Truth, majestic in her power, Shall vindicate her ancient right. The monstrous blasphemy of creeds Which represent an angry God, Who tempts man sorely through his needs, And meets his failings with a rod— Eternal wrath, through blood appeased, The curse of God, salvation’s plan, Are nightmare visions, which have seized The slumbering consciousness of man. Beyond the dim and distant line, Which bounds the vision of to-day, Great stars of truth shall rise and shine With steady and unclouded ray; Have waited patiently and long, Will see these heralds of the light, And feel themselves in truth made strong. Blind Superstition, cowering, sits Amid the ashes of the past; While old Tradition, bat-like, flits Where Time its deepest gloom hath cast. The bigot, prospering through fraud, Pays to the church his tithes, and then, With pious fervor, thanks the Lord That “he is not like other men.” The church, by deep dissensions riven, To man’s progression shuts the door, And failing thus to enter heaven, The “poor in spirit” walk before. The blood of millions on her hands— She pampers pride and winks at sin— A whited sepulchre she stands, Hiding but dead men’s bones within. We do not ask for forms and creeds, Or useless dogmas, old or new, But we do ask for Christian deeds, With man’s progression full in view. And not the first to cast a stone, The while her robes of righteousness Are over foul corruptions thrown. The pure, fresh impulse of to-day, Which thrills within the human heart, As time-worn errors pass away, Fresh life and vigor shall impart. New hopes, like beauteous strangers, wait An entrance to man’s willing breast, And child-like faith unbars the gate, To welcome in each heavenly guest. The new must e’er supplant the old, While Time’s unceasing current flows, Only new beauties to unfold, And brighter glories to disclose; For every crumbling altar-stone That falls upon the way of time, Eternal wisdom hath o’erthrown, To build a temple more sublime. O ye! who dare not trust the soul To guide you in the way to heaven, Remember that the lifeless whole Is quickened by the hidden leaven; The rugged hights of life ascend, With one united voice agree, “It can be trusted to the end.” |
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