Classic Poem

Men buy and sell by faith; the forges burn,
The drays are laden, countless mill-wheels turn,
Great ships are chartered, trains run to and fro;
Though faith directs them all, they scarcely know
This spirit of the life of every day.
Will she desert them when they seek to pray?

A day—a single day—if faith were dead,
No field were sown, no oven fired for bread.
Faith is the hand-maid in a toiler's guise
Of all the world of workers. To tired eyes
With solace she appears at close of day
To lift their burdens when they seek to pray.