Classic Poem

Love is not business-like — the generous heart,
You say, would ruin trade! Has Commerce, then,
Declined to that low level of the men
All worlds will scorn? Must wealth depart
Without the thrift of Ananias art,
And base Gehazi ply a prosperous pen
With Pharisaic wolves in Demas' den,
While Judas' thirty pieces rule the mart?
May God forbid, and give us wrath to rise
And right these hirelings in their paltry due,
Nor shriek to hear Czar-smitten Russia's woes
And turn deaf ears when wretched store-slaves sue
About our feet — bondmen and maids, whose eyes
Turn with the curse of want to you, their foes.