When this world's pleasures for my soul sufficed, <br /> Ere my heart's plummet sounded depths of pain, <br /> I call on Reason to control my brain, <br />And scoffed at that old story of Christ. <br /> <br />But when o'er burning wastes my feet had trod, <br /> And all my life was desolate with loss, <br /> With bleeding hands I clung about the cross, <br />And cried aloud, 'Man needs a suffering God! '<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conversion-2/
