When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed, 
Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain, 
I call on Reason to control my brain, 
And scoffed at that old story of 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! ' 

Added: Mar 18 2005 | Viewed: 375 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Poem: Conversion
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