FAITH
Maybe. And still on bended knees I fall,
Filled with a faith no preacher ever taught.
O God—my God—by no false prophet wrought—
I believe still, in despite af it all!
Filled with a faith no preacher ever taught.
O God—my God—by no false prophet wrought—
I believe still, in despite af it all!
Let go the myths and creeds of groping men.
This clay knows nought—the Potter understands.
I own that Power divine beyond my ken,
And still can leave me in His shaping hands.
But, O my God, that madest me to feel,
Forgive the anguish of the turning wheel!
This clay knows nought—the Potter understands.
I own that Power divine beyond my ken,
And still can leave me in His shaping hands.
But, O my God, that madest me to feel,
Forgive the anguish of the turning wheel!
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