Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
The Times
The times are not degenerate. Man’s faith Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul the need Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth Fades but to let us welcome new-born Truth. Man may not worship at the ancient shrine Prone on his face, in self-accusing scorn. That night is past. He hails a fairer morn, And knows himself a something all divine; No humble worm whose heritage is sin, But, born of God, he feels the Christ within. Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time, But deep his reverence for that mighty force. That occult working of the great all Source, Which makes the present era so sublime. Religion now means something high and broad, And man stood never half so near to God.
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