Classic Poem

All day
From Bray to Donnybrook,
From Donnybrook to Bray
The motor cars scurry.
The loud horns say—
“I'm in a hurry. Get out of my way!”
“I must get to Donnybrook”
“I must get to Bray.”

What if an angel
Leaning from the sky
Blew the last trumpet for every ear,
And shouted, “Stop your engines, for judgment is nigh!”
Would anyone listen? Would anyone hear?
Would anyone trouble to change his gear?
“Did you hear thunder?”
That's what they'd say,
Hurrying to Donnybrook,
Scurrying to Bray.