Classic Poem

What saith the voice, which is not in the thunder,
Not in the lightning that burns from the sky,
Not in the earthquake that rends lands asunder,
Not in the whirlwind that sweeps madly by?
From the wild storm apart,
Still, small and loving,
Down in the silent heart,
Teaching, reproving—
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, where the wretched are reaping
Life-long diseases from hunger and cold—
Where chilly death-dew from grim walls is weeping
Over cold hearth-stones, all green-grown with mould,
Down in the city's lair,
Down in the cellars,
Where faint and fetid air
Poisons the dwellers—
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, where child-labor is cheating
Life of its dew-drops, its sunshine and flowers;
Where many a baby-heart, languidly beating,
Barters for bread its young, beautiful hours?
Where, from the early dawn,
Little blue fingers
Toil and keep toiling on
While the day lingers—
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, to the lordly drones wasting
Treasure and time in luxurious ease;
Dwellers in palaces, men who are tasting
Pleasure's bright wine even down to its lees?
In the gay revel's glare,
Is joy abiding?
Comes no white angel there
Mournfully chiding?
What saith the voice?

Hear ye no voice, whose high teaching and holy
Bids you go forth to the struggle and strife;
Cheering the languishing, lifting the lowly,
Who perish of want on the highways of life?
Hard by the gilded gates,
Pitiful, pleading,
Many a Lazarus waits—
Pass not unheeding
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, to the Dives who measure
Life's future years by the weight of their gold;
Who have no idol, no God but their treasure?
Fools! while they worship, their last hour is told.
Gold is but sordid dust,
Worth small endeavor;
Priceless the soul that must
Live on forever.
Thus saith the voice.

What saith the voice, where fierce warriors have striven
Till blood stains the rivers and blackens the sod;
Where many a noble heart passes unshriven
From the hot strife to the presence of God?
Does not the ghastly stain
Nothing can smother;
Whisper forever: “Cain,
Where is thy brother?”
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, to the duellist, daring
The vengeance of God at false honor's command?
Is there no blight on the life he is bearing?
Is there no blood on his death-dealing hand?
Is there no final cost,
Though no man chide him?
Walks not a gory ghost
Ever beside him?
What saith the voice?

What saith the voice, to the gifted who tower
In God's best endowments above the great throng;
Men who have eloquence, passion and power,
Hope in the future, and hearts brave and strong?
Work, or the soul will rust,
Die of inanity;
Knowing that God is just,
Work for humanity.
Thus saith the voice.