Classic Poem

When the great, busy plants of our cities
Shall have turned out their last finished work;
When our merchants have sold their last order,
And dismissed every hard-working clerk;
When our banks have all counted the last of their notes
And paid out their last dividend:
When the Judge of the earth wants a hearing
And asks for a balance—what then?

When the choir has sung its last anthem,
And the preacher has voiced his last prayer;
When the people have heard their last sermon,
And the sound has died out on the air;
When the Bible lies closed in the pulpit
And the pews are all empty of men;
When we stand each one facing his record—
And the great Book is opened—what then?

When the actors have played their last drama,
And the mimic has made his last fun;
When the movie has flashed its last picture,
And the billboard displayed its last run;
When the crowds seeking pleasure have vanished,
And gone out into darkness again—
When the trumpet of ages has sounded—
And we stand up before Him—what then?