Before the oldest book was writ, Full many a prehistoric soul Arrived at this unchanging goal, Through changeless love, that led to it. What matters that one found his Christ In rising sun, or burning fire; If faith within him did not tire, His longing for the truth sufficed. Before our ‘Christian’ hell was brought To edify a modern world, Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled In lakes of fire by its own thought. A thousand creeds have come and gone; But what is that to you or me? Creeds are but branches of a tree, The root of love lives on and on. Though branch by branch proves withered wood, The root is warm with precious wine; Then keep your faith, and leave me mine; _All_ roads that lead to God are good. CHRIST CRUCIFIED Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way To do the will of Christ, our Lord and Master, day by day; And with this prayer upon my lips, I knew not that I dreamed, But suddenly the world of night a pandemonium seemed. From forest, and from slaughter house, from bull ring, and from stall, There rose an anguished cry of pain, a loud, appealing call; As man—the dumb beast’s next of kin—with gun, and whip, and knife, Went pleasure-seeking through the earth, blood-bent on taking life. From trap, and cage, and house, and zoo, and street, that awful strain Of tortured creatures rose and swelled the orchestra of pain. And then methought the gentle Christ appeared to me, and spoke: ‘I called you, but ye answered not’—and in my fear I woke. Then next I heard the roar of mills; and moving through the noise, Like phantoms in an underworld, were little girls and boys. Their backs were bent, their brows were pale, their eyes were sad and old; But by the labour of their hands greed added gold to gold. Again the Presence and the Voice: ‘Behold the crimes I see, As ye have done it unto these, so have ye done to me.’ Again I slept. I seemed to climb a hard, ascending track; And just behind me laboured one whose patient face was black. I pitied him; but hour by hour he gained upon the path; He stood beside me, stood upright—and then I turned in wrath. ‘Go back!’ I cried. ‘What right have you to walk beside me here? For you are black, and I am white.’ I paused, struck dumb with fear. For lo! the black man was not there, but Christ stood in his place; And oh! the pain, the pain, the pain that looked from that dear face.