Shadows by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I am sorry in the gladness
Of the joys that crown my days,
For the souls that sit in sadness
Or walk uninviting ways.

On the radiance of my labour
That a loving fate bestowed,
Falls the shadow of my neighbour,
Crushed beneath a thankless load.

As the canticle of pleasure
From my lovelit altar rolls,
There is one discordant measure,
As I think of homeless souls.

And I know that grim old story,
Preached from pulpits, is not so,
For no God could sit in glory
And see sinners writhe below.

In that great eternal Centre
Where all human life has birth,
Boundless love and pity enter
And flow downward to the earth.

And all souls in sin or sorrow
Are but passing through the night,
And I know on some to-morrow
God will love them into light.

See also  The Trail Of Ninety-Eight by Robert W. Service
Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *