What The Voice Said

Maddened by Earth's wrong and evil,     "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire,     "From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder,     Shake the bolted fire!     "Love is lost, and Faith is dying;     With the brute the man is sold;     And the dropping blood of labor     Hardens into gold.     "Here the dying wail of Famine,     There the battle's groan of pain;     And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon     Reaping men like grain.     "'Where is God, that we should fear Him?'     Thus the earth-born Titans say     'God! if Thou art living, hear us!'     Thus the weak ones pray."     "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding,"     Spake a solemn Voice within;     "Weary of our Lord's forbearance,     Art thou free from sin?     "Fearless brow to Him uplifting,     Canst thou for His thunders call,     Knowing that to guilt's attraction     Evermore they fall?     "Know'st thou not all germs of evil     In thy heart await their time?     Not thyself, but God's restraining,     Stays their growth of crime.     "Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness!     O'er the sons of wrong and strife,     Were their strong temptations planted     In thy path of life?     "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing     From one fountain, clear and free,     But by widely varying channels     Searching for the sea.     "Glideth one through greenest valleys,     Kissing them with lips still sweet;     One, mad roaring down the mountains,     Stagnates at their feet.     "Is it choice whereby the Parsee     Kneels before his mother's fire?     In his black tent did the Tartar     Choose his wandering sire?     "He alone, whose hand is bounding     Human power and human will,     Looking through each soul's surrounding,     Knows its good or ill.     "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow     Make to thee their strong appeal,     Coward wert thou not to utter     What the heart must feel.     "Earnest words must needs be spoken     When the warm heart bleeds or burns     With its scorn of wrong, or pity     For the wronged, by turns.     "But, by all thy nature's weakness,     Hidden faults and follies known,     Be thou, in rebuking evil,     Conscious of thine own.     "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty     To thy lips her trumpet set,     But with harsher blasts shall mingle     Wailings of regret."     Cease not, Voice of holy speaking,     Teacher sent of God, be near,     Whispering through the day's cool silence,     Let my spirit hear!     So, when thoughts of evil-doers     Waken scorn, or hatred move,     Shall a mournful fellow-feeling     Temper all with love.