Classic Poem

Utterly weary of these modern creeds,
That hail the pain and passion of a cross,
My doubting soul, that finds in them but dross,
A far more grand and glorious worship needs.

This sempiternal God, that pants and bleeds
To save mankind, can locks all gory toss,
Thorn-crowned, superb, but I feel not His loss;
Such useless martyrdom to my sense ne'er pleads.

Mahomet's cult, like Manitou's, is tame;
Brahma and Buddhâ teach no lofty things;
I see a God that can their powers eclipse,
And long in some wild chaos of sacred flame
To seek sweet shelter under Satan's wings,
And kiss all hell upon his perfect lips!