whom are both worthy and distinguished. In the interesting poem,
_God's Funeral_, written in 1908-1910, which begins

I saw a slowly stepping train--
Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed and bent and hoar--
Following in files across a twilit plain
A strange and mystic form the foremost bore

the development of the conception of God through human history is
presented with skill in concision. He was man-like at first, then an
amorphous cloud, then endowed with mighty wings, then jealous, fierce,
yet long-suffering and full of mercy.

And, tricked by our own early dream
And need of solace, we grew self-deceived,
Our making soon our maker did we dream,
And what we had imagined we believed.

Till, in Time's stayless stealthy swing,
Uncompromising rude reality
Mangled the Monarch of our fashioning,
Who quavered, sank; and now has ceased to be.

Among the mourners is no less a person than the poet himself, for in
former years--perhaps as a boy--he, too, had worshipped, and therefore
he has no touch of contempt for those who still believe.

I could not prop their faith: and yet
Many I had known: with all I sympathized;
And though struck speechless, I did not forget