Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Easter Morn

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. 

1. At the Boro Boedoer
2. Sonnets of Sorrow. 18. The wise ones tell me that my heart's wild clamour
3. Applause
4. The Beggar Cat
5. Bless the Babies

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