Classic Poem

There came a singer through the world,
The world of grim to-day,
The fire of life was on his lips
And in his heart the May.

He sang a golden song of love,
Of truth and truth's desire,
And flung a majesty of might
From his alluring lyre.

He came to where the cliques of song,
Life's grim Sanhedrim dwelt;
They hated him because of all
The truth he sang and felt.

They hated him and cried him down,
Because they saw in him
The lark in heaven, sweet and clear,
That made their singing dim.

They slew him with their evil tongues,
Their artful, false disdain,
And life lost all that joy and hope
That should have been its gain.

They drove him from the doors of hope,
The gates of human fame,
Until in dusk of evil spite
He died without a name.

His melody went fading out,
Till under heaven's bars
His mighty music sobbed and sank,
And melted to the stars.

Then in his place they set them up
False gods of tinsel show,
Poor helot, soulless, mumming mock
Of mighty long ago.

And built them temples born of art
Upon an evil time,
When gold and power and pelf were prized,
And rhyme was only rhyme.

And starved the yearning sons of God
Of beauty, love and truth,
And gave them stones who asked for bread,
In dread and shameless ruth.

How long, O Life, this mighty ill,
This reign of hate? How long
Permit to dree their evil weird,
Earth's murderers of song?