Classic Poem

Let me done for good and all with news
Of a mad world, proclaimed on every side
By orators who thunder and deride,
And bitter preachers shrieking: " I accuse! "
And cynic quipsters scribbling to amuse —
Fierce wee colossi on mole-hills astride.
Where is the unreal world which they abuse?
What means the torrent of their wordy pride?

For there are folk in darkened city rooms,
Meek souls, in whom bright loving kindness blooms;
And there are folk on lonely toilsome farms,
Kind souls, who live and die without alarms;
In them th' eternal gospel speaks again,
And angels sing: Peace and good will to men.