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