by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A truth that has long lain buried
At Superstition's door,
I see, in the dawn uprising
In all its strength once more.
Hidden away in the darkness,
By Ignorance crucified,
Crushed under stones of dogmas --
Yet lo! it has not died.
It stands in the light transfigured,
It speaks from the heights above,
Each soul is its own redeemer;
There is no law but Love.
And the spirits of men are gladdened
As they welcome this Truth re-born
With its feet on the grave of Error
And its eyes to the Easter Morn.
Source:Poems of Sentiment
Gay And Hancock, Ltd., London