Robert W Service, The Original Homepage

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When from my fumbling hand the tired pen falls...

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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
All Entries 1997 - 2002
All Entries 2002
Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert

My Childhood God

Published by Susan on 08/02/2003 (3261 reads)
When I was small the Lord appeared...

When I was small the Lord appeared
         Unto my mental eye
A gentle giant with a beard
         Who homed up in the sky.
But soon that vasty vision blurred,
         And faded in the end,
Till God is just another word
         I cannot comprehend.

I envy those of simple faith
         Who bend the votive knee;
Who do not doubt divinely death
         Will set their spirits free.
Oh could I be like you and you,
         Sweet souls who scan this line,
And by dim altar worship too
         A Deity Divine!

Alas! Mid passions that appal
         I ask with bitter woe
Is God responsible for all
         Our horror here below?
He made the hero and the saint,
         But did He also make
The cannibal in battle paint,
         The shark and rattlesnake?

If I believe in God I should
         Believe in Satan too;
The one the source of all our good,
         The other of our rue . . .
Oh could I second childhood gain!
         For then it might be, I
Once more would see that vision plain,--
         Fond Father in the sky.

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