The poem
For all good friends who care to read, here let me lyre my living creed . . .
One: you may deem me Pacifist, For I've no sympathy with strife. Like hell I hate the iron fist, And shun the battle-ground of life. The hope of peace is dear to me, And I to Christian faith belong, Holding that breath should sacred be, And War is always wrong.
Two: Universalist am I And dream a world that's frontier free, With common tongue and common tie, Uncurst by nationality; Where colour, creed and class are one, And lowly folk are lifted high; Where every breed beneath the sun Is equal in God's eye.
Three: you may call me Naturist, For green glade is my quiet quest; The path of progress I have missed, And shun the city's sore unrest. A world that's super-civilized Is one of worry, want and woe; In leafy lore let me be wised And back to Nature go.
Well, though you may but half agree, Behold my trusty Trinity