Poem April 4, 1908 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

"ILLUSIONS."

BEN. HAWORTH-BOOTH.

Sickness and pain and death, if true they be,
Must be a part of Truth. If they be real,
They have their share of immortality,
Which the creator sanctions by His seal.
And vain were he who would essay to heal
With or without his drugs—who would undo
An attribute of God—and vain to kneel
To pray the unchanging Mind to change His view—
Wisdom's immortal king to amend His ways anew!

Sickness and pain and death, ill-fated three!
Now their ill work is shown to be illusion,
And Truth's awakening touch reveals to me
New love, new life, the end of false confusion.
Nor cloistered cell, nor vows of cowled Carthusian
Are needful now; for Truth, new-robed in white,
Brings health and holiness, divine infusion,
And shows the Christ, unveiled to mortal sight,
To them that look for him from out the moaning night.

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