Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/267

 AND OTHER POEMS

PART I

IN PALESTINE

, no! that sacred land

Where fell the wearied feet of the lone Christ

Robs not the soul of faith. I shall set down

The thought was in my heart. If that hath lost

Aught of its child-belief, 't was long ago,

Not there in Palestine; and if 't were lost,

He were a coward who should fear to lose

A blind, hereditary, thoughtless faith—

Comfort of fearful minds, a straw to catch at

On the deep-gulfed and tempest-driven sea.

Full well I know how shallow spirits lack

The essence, flinging from them but the form.

I have seen souls lead barren lives and curst,—

Bereft of light, and all the grace of life,—

Because for them the inner truth was lost

In the frail symbol—hated, shattered, spurned.

But faith that lives forever is not bound

To any outward semblance, any scheme

Fine-wrought of human wonder, or self-love,

Or the base fear of never-ending pain.

True faith doth face the blackness of despair,