|
|
Easter Morn
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A truth that has long lain buried
At Superstition's door,
I see, in the dawn uprising
In all its strength once more.
Hidden away in the darkness,
By Ignorance crucified,
Crushed under stones of dogmas -
Yet lo! it has not died.
It stands in the light transfigured,
It speaks from the heights above,
"EACH SOUL IS ITS OWN REDEEMER;
THERE IS NO LAW BUT LOVE."
And the spirits of men are gladdened
As they welcome this Truth re-born
With its feet on the grave of Error
And its eyes to the Easter Morn.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 281 times.
|
|
