Classic Poem

" Behold, " the sons of Judah say,
" How many solemn fasts we hold!
How many contrite psalms are rolled!
And yet He turns his face away. "

Alas! ye fast for hate and strife,
To smite with cruel fist the poor,
And drive the beggar from the door
That guards your light and pampered life.

Is this the fast that God decrees,
A day for man to scourge his soul
And bow in counterfeited dole
Like rushes smitten by the breeze?

What boots it though ye crawl and weep,
In sackcloth hiding garments fair,
And sprinkle cinders on the hair,
All day upon the ashen heap?

Behold the fast that God ordains:
To break the yoke of wickedness;
To ease the burden of distress;
To loose the slave's and debtor's chains;

To lead the houseless one within;
To cheer his fainting soul with bread;
To clothe him, warm him, in thy stead;
To be a brother to thy kin.

Then, when thou askest any boon,
Thy God will answer, " Here am I! "
His sun will rise upon thy sky,
And all thy darkness turn to noon.