Fortunately, we need not be specific,
They are all here subsumed, the scientists,
Who never claimed to love but truth as object,
But for self-esteem, for mankind’s own good.
There was certainly never love of God,
Perhaps awe, this trait refined to debasement
In the crucible, burnt off, nothing left
For the invisible, intangible.
Science’s progress on a scale of pride
Never looked back, to culturing contempt
Of the divine, never a formula
To move the heart, only of man, the mind.
