by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
If fallacies come knocking at my door,
I’d rather feed, and shelter full a score,
Than hide behind the black portcullis, doubt,
And run the risk of barring one Truth out.
And if pretension for a time deceive,
And prove me one too ready to believe,
Far less my shame, than if by stubborn act,
I brand as lie, some great colossal Fact.
On my soul’s door, the latch-string hangs outside;
Within, the lighted candle. Let me guide
Some errant follies, on their wandering way,
Rather, than Wisdom give no welcoming ray.
|from Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1913)|