Classic Poem

Clear-singing trumpet to the listening soul
That hears unseen the truth-releasing word;
How many heroes by your numbers stirred
Are marching to a far sublimer goal
Than wealth and ease that take unearned toll
Of unrequited toil! Your call they heard
And hasted sternly their young lives to gird,
The half good spurning to obtain the whole.

Comrade of Nature, how each rill and stream
Runs in your lines to new exploits of art!
The myriad music of your lyric dream
On wing of gladness lifts the haunted heart;
The flowers escape their bonds of earth and sod
To keep their poet's holiday with God.