Of old our father's God was real, br Something they almost saw, br Which kept them to a stern ideal br And scourged them into awe. br br They walked the narrow path of right br Most vigilantly well, br Because they feared eternal night br And boiling depths of Hell. br br Now Hell has wholly boiled away br And God become a shade. br There is no place for him to stay br In all the world He made. br br The followers of William James br Still let the Lord exist, br And call Him by imposing names, br A venerable list. br But nerve and muscle only count, br Gray matter of the brain, br And an astonishing amount br Of inconvenient pain. br br I sometimes wish that God were back br In this dark world and wide; br For though sonic virtues He might lack, br He had his pleasant side.