To utter pious hopes is not enough !
No unctuous platitudes can heal the sores
That corruscate the leprous hide of man.
The roots of his malaise are deep and tough
And spread slow poison through his veins and pores ;
The pallor of disease belies his tan.
Yet, as we must believe, his is the stuff
Precious beyond all other earthly ores
In the Creator’s fundamental plan,
There is a remedy not put to proof.
It has been found by men of simple faith,
Who in complete surrender put their trust
In One who meekly chose the way of death,
That life eternal might still rise from dust.
Weekly Times 19.4.62