The Acolyte
Shall we then consecrate those things we know,
Clinging to patterns with complacent ease,—
Or, tired with feigning meekness on our knees,
Rise up in might and confidently go,
Leaving the rest to kneel? The candles glow
Whether or not we speak our litanies.
Yet wiser men say hope cannot appease
The lasting voice that chants, “God wills it so!”