Poets •
Biographies •
Poems by Themes •
Random Poem •
The Rating of Poets • The Rating of Poems |
||
|
Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox Devils God made man and man made devils-- All of earth's evils Are shaped and moulded by mortal thought Carelessly fashioned or carefully wrought, Life after life and time on time, Thought-forms grow into creatures of crime, Roaming about in the Regions of Mind, Mischief to find. Monstrous devils there are grown bold Through ages untold; Devils old With sins repeated and unrepented, Devils demented By their own passions and lusts and greeds, Or by steady diets of moss-grown creeds-- History tells how these devils would boil Their differing brothers in kettles of oil: And we know how the Maid of Orleans fared! Still, if they dared, Devils there are who would do it again, Stalking among us as sanctified men. Bleating aloud of their love for God, Yet using the rod Or the scourge on some brother whose faith seems too broad. Imps of jealousy, envy and spite, Grow into big devils, sometimes in a night, Big, black, red-eyed devils of war, Whom we all abhor. There are feminine devils who must, I opine, Have been mermaids or fishes, when seaward the swine Ran over the cliffs and were drowned; but the Legion Of devils was saved, for it found in that region Mermaids and jelly-fish ready to give All the comforts of home, and to help them to live. Then into forms human Each came as a woman: Delilah, and Jezebel, Lilith and all Females who stand but that others may fall: And females who gossip and stir up strife, And are thorns in the flesh of the neighbourhood life. But the worst type of all, of the many that roam Abroad in the land, is the devil at home. A narrow-souled, mean little devil of self-- A petulant elf Who smiles on the street, but at his (or her) board Sits scowling or groaning or saying some word That hurts those who hear it; A mosquito-like spirit That keeps up a buzzing and maddening hum, And only is dumb While sinking its sting into somebody's heart. Oh this is the devil who plays a large part In the world everywhere: yet full often his voice (Or hers) in the churches is heard to rejoice Over certain salvation for those who 'believe.' Alas! You poor devils, you cannot deceive The God of the Universe. You will be driven Straight out of His heaven Back into the sea by the Christ as of old: And you will behold Your thoughts and your deeds coming back on yourself, You mean little petulant home-spoiling elf. God made man and man made devils; But all earth's evils Will wear themselves out as the cycles roll, And nothing will live but the God in each soul. Ella Wheeler Wilcox Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
1332 Views |
|
English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |