OH, POOR, SICK WORLD

_Lord of all the Universe_, _when I think of YOU_,
_Flinging stars out into space_, _moving suns and tides_;
_Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view_,
_And the carping self of me runs away and hides_.

_Then I see all shadowed paths leading out to Light_;
_See the false things fade away_, _leaving but the True_;
_See the wrong things slay themselves_, _leaving only Right_;
_When this little mortal mind gets the larger view_.

_Cavillings at this and that_, _censure_, _doubt and fear_,
_Fly_, _as fly before the dawn_, _insects of the night_;
_Life and Death are understood_; _everything seems clear_,
_All the wrong things slay themselves_, _leaving only Right_.

The World has walked with fever in its veins
For many and many a day. Oh, poor, sick world!
Not knowing all its dreams of greed and gain,
Of selfish conquest and possession, were
Disordered visions of a brain diseased.

Now the World's malady is at its height
And there is foul contagion in its breath.
It raves of death and slaughter; and the stars
Shake with reverberations of its cries,
And the sad seas are troubled and disturbed.
So must it rave-this sick and suffering world-
Until the old secretions in its blood
Are emptied out and purged away by war;
And the deep seated cankers of the mind
Begin the healing process. Then a calm
Shall come upon the earth; and that loved word
PEACE, shall be understood from shore to shore.

Shriek on, mad world. The great Physician sits
Serenely conscious of the coming change,
Nor seeks to check the fever; it must run
Until its course is finished. He can wait.

In his vast Solar Systems he has seen
So many other worlds as sick as this
He feels but pity for his ailing charge,
Not blame or anger. And he knows the hour
Will surely dawn when that sick child shall wake
Free from all frenzied fancies, and shall turn
Clear-seeing eyes upon the face of God.
Then shall begin the new millennium.

_Lord of all the Universe_, _when I think of YOU_,
_Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view_;
_Then I see all shadowed paths leading into Light_,
_Where the wrong things slay themselves_, _leaving only Right_.

Oh, poor, sick world!

End of title

OH, POOR, SICK WORLD

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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