Oh, sorry the search of the world for gods,
Through faith that slaughters and art that lauds,
While reason sits on its throne and nods.

But out of the leisure that men will know,
When the cruel things of the sad earth go,
A Faith that is Knowledge shall rise and grow.

In the throb and whir of each new machine
Thinner is growing the veil between
The visible earth and the worlds unseen.

The True Religion shall leisure bring;
And Art shall awaken and Love shall sing:
Oh, ho! for the age of the motored thing!



NEW YEAR



MORTAL:
'The night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and
drear;
Who is it knocking at my door?'

THE NEW YEAR:
'I am Good Cheer.'