The times are not degenerate. Man's faith Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul the need Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth Fades but to let us welcome new-born Truth.

The times are not degenerate. Man's faith

Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith

Man may not worship at the ancient shrine Prone on his face, in self-accusing scorn. That night is past. He hails a fairer morn, And knows himself a something all divine; No humble worm whose heritage is sin, But, born of God, he feels the Christ within.

Man may not worship at the ancient shrine

And knows himself a something all divine;

Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time, But deep his reverence for that mighty force. That occult working of the great all Source, Which makes the present era so sublime. Religion now means something high and broad, And man stood never half so near to God.

Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time,

Which makes the present era so sublime.

 The Question

Beside us in our seeking after pleasures, Through all our restless striving after fame, Through all our search for worldly gains and treasures, There walketh one whom no man likes to name. Silent he follows, veiled of form and feature, Indifferent if we sorrow or rejoice, Yet that day comes when every living creature Must look upon his face and hear his voice.

Through all our restless striving after fame,

There walketh one whom no man likes to name.

Indifferent if we sorrow or rejoice,

Must look upon his face and hear his voice.

When that day comes to you, and Death, unmasking, Shall bar your path, and say, "Behold the end," What are the questions that he will be asking About your past? Have you considered, friend? I think he will not chide you for your sinning, Nor for your creeds or dogmas will he care; He will but ask, "From your life's first beginning How many burdens have you helped to bear?"

Shall bar your path, and say, "Behold the end,"

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