The Church of Good Society
Within the House of Mammon his priesthood stands
By mysteries attended, by dusk and splendors girt,
Knowing, for faiths departed, his own shall still endure,
And they be found his chosen, untroubled, solemn, sure.
Within the House of Mammon the golden altar lifts
Where dragon-lamps are shrouded as costly incense
A dust of old ideals, now fragrant from the coals,
To tell of hopes long-ended, to tell the death of souls.