When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed,
    Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain,
    I called on reason to control my brain,
And scoffed at that old story of the Christ.

But when o'er burning wastes my feet had trod,
    And all my life was desolate with loss,
    With bleeding hands I clung about the cross,
And cried aloud, "Man needs a suffering God!"

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.

Back to Poem Index