Classic Poem

A man cries out in the wilderness,
And he has a terrible thing to tell.
He cries aloud to age and youth—
His words are hot with the sting of truth
And fierce as the bite of hell.
A man cries out in the wilderness,
For his heart is raw to the world's distress;
His soul is seared with the people's shame,
And his message brands like flame.
Oh, his breast is scarred and his hands are torn,
He has blazed the trail through hate and scorn.
Vice and ignorance, wrong and wrack—
These are the foes he has beaten back;
These are the beasts he holds at bay,
And he cries: “Make way! Make way!
Make way for the race that is to be—
The conquering race, the coming man,
Clean, courageous, intrepid, free,
Pure as the great God's plan.

Dream of the ages—a vision dim—
Martyrs have burned and died for him;
Prophets have preached him, unafraid;
For him we have wept, we have prayed”
A man cries out in the wilderness,
And the lightning's wrath is in his face
A man cries out in the wilderness,
And he pleads for the human race.
For I tell you, a race shall come to birth,
Godlike, glorious, on this earth,
As far in advance of present man
As the heavens that we scan.
Did we dream it could breed from low desire?
Did we dream it could rise from bestial mire?
Could the beautiful, celestial thing
From lust and lechery spring?
A man cries in the wilderness,
And his heart is raw to the world's distress.
With terrible truth his feet are shod,
“Make way—make way for the sons of God!”