Shall Faith Be Found? by Arthur W. Spaulding

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park, Washington, D. C. · Sep 25, 1913

Shall Faith Be Found?

By Arthur W. Spaulding

ARTHUR W. SPAULDING

THE world is flooded with a weird, fierce light, The glow of fires that wait its onward march; And things in darkness hidden spring to sudden sight Beneath the tense, hot searchlight of that ominous arch. And men, delirious with the joy of things new found, Are wrapped in pride of age and praise of gain. But he who seeks amid these cumberers of the ground For men of simple faith, shall seek in vain.

The hopeful visions of the dupes of peace Parade beneath the shadow of old Lamech's boast. The blows of Tubal-cain by night and day increase, And, world-wide, every plain is marshaling forth its host. The waifs of toil mouth out their hate of happier birth, And misery with reckless luxury grows. So, mad in Time's last wild debauch, old Earth Still staggers toward her cataclysmic close.

But where shall faith be found? Not in the room Of him who lords it o'er his fellows mute. Not in the mobs of passion that upheave the gloom, Or, wallowing in the mire of riot, shame the brute. Not in the mitered cleric that, with haughty brow, Pollutes with pious cant God's sanctuary even. Not in the cringing sycophant, whose vow Upbuilds his Babel for his hopeless heaven.

Go, search the mountains and the deserts far! For Time hath wearied of his tenure long. Mayhap in waste of dune, in cavern, or by scar, Are hid the meek,—the simple and the strong.

Go, find, and deck as virgin brides the faithful few, That they may greet the culmination of the ages' plan: For when the light of faith is almost lost from view, It is the portent of the coming of the Son of man.

Sanitarium, Cal.