William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Massachusetts Poets. 1922.

Exit God

OF old our father’s God was real,

Something they almost saw,

Which kept them to a stern ideal

And scourged them into awe.

They walked the narrow path of right

Most vigilantly well,

Because they feared eternal night

And boiling depths of Hell.

Now Hell has wholly boiled away

And God become a shade.

There is no place for him to stay

In all the world He made.

The followers of William James

Still let the Lord exist,

And call Him by imposing names,

A venerable list.

But nerve and muscle only count,

Gray matter of the brain,

And an astonishing amount

Of inconvenient pain.

I sometimes wish that God were back

In this dark world and wide;

For though sonic virtues He might lack,

He had his pleasant side.