Poem December 13, 1900 Issue

Love and Hate

BY WILLIAM BRADFORD DICKSON.

If I but truly say, "I love,"
The darkened way grows bright,
And I behold the heavenly light,
Beneath, around, above.

Strange fire warms my deadened soul,
My being wakes anew;
Eternal glories greet my view,
Man perfect, sinless, whole.

But if I madly say, "I hate,"
I make my bed in hell;
Bleak is the land wherein I dwell,
Cold, dark, and desolate.

Remorse and fear hold constant sway,
My heart is filled with gloom;
Hate carries in its arms its doom,
But love its endless day.

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