Public Domain Poetry And Stories - The Black Sheep by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Black Sheep

    By Ella Wheeler Wilcox



    'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?'
    Yes, sir - yes, sir:    three bags full.'

    'I don't want any New Thought,' said he,
    'Or any Theosophy, for, you see,
    The faith I learned at my mother's knee
    Is good enough for me.
    Of course, I'm a wee bit broader than she,
    Hearing one sermon where she heard three,
    And I read my paper on Sunday, instead
    Of the Bible only.    My mother said
    I was a black sheep, when she saw
    I strayed a trifle away from the law,
    And didn't think every one left in the lurch
    Who happened to go to a different church;
    But, still, in the main, her creed is mine,
    And I don't want anything more divine.'
    Yet his mother's mother was more austere;
    She taught her children a creed of fear,
    And she called them 'black sheep' when, with a shock,
    She saw them straying away from the flock,
    Just far enough
    To get around places they thought too rough,
    Like infant damnation and endless hell.

    But his mother's mother's mother would tell
    How her mother thought it was God's sweet will
    To punish and torture a heretic till
    They drove out the devil that made him dare
    Think for himself in the matter of prayer
    And faith and salvation.    So we see how it is
    If we look back over the centuries -
    The creeds men learned at their mother's knee
    When Salem witches were hanged to a tree,
    And the pious dames flocked thither to see,
    Are not deemed Christian or holy to-day;
    And the bold black sheep who went straying away
    From rut-worn paths in their search for God,
    And leaped over the fence into pastures broad,
    Are the great trail-makers for mortal souls,
    Leading the race up to higher goals
    And a larger religion; where man must find
    God dwelling ever within his mind,
    Christ in his conduct, and heaven in his thought,
    And hell but the places where love is not.
    A mighty religion that makes this earth
    But the cradle that fits us for death's new birth
    And the life beyond it, that is so near
    Its echoes may reach to the listening ear.

    'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?'
    'Yes, sir - yes, sir:    a whole world full.'



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