Nothing within me responds to the story of Adam and Eve;
And Genesis seems like a tale not meant for the world to believe:
Yet when I wake in the dawn, if the skies are gray or gold,
The love, the love in the heart of me, for God, can never be told.
Jesus to me is a man who lived the life divine:
And I think of his birth as a human birth, just like yours and mine!
But the love down deep in my heart, that is sweeter than any other.
Is the great uplifting, tender love I give to Christ, my brother.
I know at times I have erred, as all who are mortal will:
By doing the wrong thing well, or doing the right thing ill.
But nobody else can atone for the paths my feet have trod:
And I know, I know by the love in my heart, I can make it right with God.
The world has a thousand creeds, and never a one have I:
Nor church of my own, though a million spires are pointing the way on high.
But I float on the bosom of faith, that bears me along like a river:
And the lamp of my soul is alight with love, for life, and the world, and the Giver.
I know how brief is my span, and I know how certain is death;
And I send out a prayer of love and trust with the breathing of every breath:
And heretic though I am, outside of the pale of creeds,
I have love in my heart for God and man: and I think it is all one needs.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Good Housekeeping Magazine 57 (Sept. 1913): 281.
Provided courtesy of Bonnie Char
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