"God is our Father which art in heaven."
Would I have my son praise me to my face continually—or at all. Would I compel him to pester me with demands for what he desired,—good, bad and indifferent?
And would I give him what he asked regardless of what was best for him—or say, "If you ask not, you receive not?" Give me a God finer and greater and juster and nobler than myself—something higher than the Chaplain's jealous, capricious, inconsequent and illogical God. Anthropomorphism!
Is there a God at all?
I shall soon know.
If so—
Oh Thou, who man of baser earth didst make
And ev'n with Paradise devised the Snake,
For all the Sin the face of wretched man
Is black with—Man's forgiveness give—and take!
At dawn I said aloud:—
"This Chapter is closed. The story of Burker and Dolores is written. I may now strive to forget."
I was wrong.