Though time may dig the grave of creeds,
And dogmas wither in the sod,
My soul will keep the thought it needs--
Its swerveless faith in God.
No matter how the world began,
Nor where the march of science goes,
My trust in something more than man
Shall help me bear life's woes.
Let progress take the props away,
And moldering superstitions fall;
Still God retains his regal sway--
The Maker of us all.
Why cavil over that or this?
One thought is vast enough for me--
The great Creator was, and is,
And evermore will be.