Classic Poem

In the silence of the morning, through the softly-rising mist,
As the chrysolite of dawning ripened into amethyst,
Came a voice so clear, peremptory, that my soul could not but list:
" Unto thyself be true! "

In the rush and swirl of noontide, 'mid a gale of voices loud,
And keen eyes that flashed their lightnings over faces thunder-browed,
Came a voice imperious, alien to the voices of the crowd:
" Be to thy brother true! "

In the calmness of the evening, when the winds had sunk to rest,
When no earthquake heaved its fury, burned no fire within my breast,
Came a still small voice so tender, it the heart of Christ confessed:
" Unto thy God be true! "