English poem
The Goal
All roads that lead to God are good; What matters it, your faith, or mine; Both centre at the goal divine Of love’s eternal Brotherhood. The kindly life in house or street; The life of prayer, and mystic rite; The student’s search for truth and light; These paths at one great junction meet. Before the oldest book was writ, Full many a prehistoric soul Arrived at this unchanging goal, Through changeless love, that led to it. What matters that one found his Christ In rising sun, or burning fire; If faith within him did not tire, His longing for the truth sufficed. Before our ‘Christian’ hell was brought To edify a modern world, Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled In lakes of fire by its own thought. A thousand creeds have come and gone; But what is that to you or me? Creeds are but branches of a tree, The root of love lives on and on. Though branch by branch proves withered wood, The root is warm with precious wine; Then keep your faith, and leave me mine; All roads that lead to God are good.