名人诗歌|ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS (10)

Of old our father's God was real, Something they almost saw, Which kept them to a stern ideal And scourged^{1 them into awe2.}

They walked the narrow path of right Most vigilantly^{3 well, Because they feared eternal night And boiling depths of Hell.}

Now Hell has wholly boiled away And God become a shade. There is no place for him to stay In all the world He made.

The followers^{4 of William James Still let the Lord exist, And call Him by imposing5 names, A venerable list. But nerve and muscle only count, Gray matter of the brain, And an astonishing amount Of inconvenient6 pain.}

I sometimes wish that God were back In this dark world and wide； For though sonic virtues^{7 He might lack, He had his pleasant side.}