| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 227. Spoon River Anthology |
| | | Father Malloy |
| | | By Edgar Lee Masters |
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| YOU are over there, Father Malloy, | |
| Where holy ground is, and the cross marks every grave, | |
| Not here with us on the hill— | |
| Us of wavering faith, and clouded vision | |
| And drifting hope, and unforgiven sins. | 5 |
| You were so human, Father Malloy, | |
| Taking a friendly glass sometimes with us, | |
| Siding with us who would rescue Spoon River | |
| From the coldness and the dreariness of village morality. | |
| You were like a traveler who brings a little box of sand | 10 |
| From the wastes about the pyramids | |
| And makes them real and Egypt real. | |
| You were a part of and related to a great past, | |
| And yet you were so close to many of us. | |
| You believed in the joy of life. | 15 |
| You did not seem to be ashamed of the flesh. | |
| You faced life as it is, | |
| And as it changes. | |
| Some of us almost came to you, Father Malloy, | |
| Seeing how your church had divined the heart, | 20 |
| And provided for it, | |
| Through Peter the Flame, | |
| Peter the Rock. | |
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