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Show BLINDNESS. ' From sire to sire for such long cheerless time Have we accepted tears as heritage, And dol'rous droned through lengths of ancient rhyme With ceaseless sorrow for unchanging theme, That life has come to be a weary page And joy the phantasm of a fevered dream. So long have wrappings of unyielding gloom . Close-swathed the heart, that we resent the word Which pleads for happiness this side the tomb. For us no note of earth must vibrant rise; For us the nearer music to be heard Is lost in seeking that of distant skies. We call him pagan who in gladness strips From glowing truth the dull, dogmatic sheath, And kisses pleasure full upon the lips; We call him Christian who embraces care, Who hunts the thorns to weave in crowning wreath For heaven more fit if girdled by despair. We leave the brilliant substance for the wraith, And deem his sainted by conjoint acclaim Who wears a smileless face in show of faith. Like mewling children, of the dark afraid, We cling to crude supports, abstruse and lame, And keep to doleful covenants, self-made. When will the souls of men, as one agreed, Consent to read the word that shines above Unbound by dwarfing hindrances of creed? When will the fallacies to which we cling Be merged in one great universal love? When will we say "The Father," not "The King?" Mabel Porter Pitts in Town Talk. |