God saw the restless, idle rich in club and cabaret, Meat-gorged, wine-filled, they played and preened and danced till dawn o’ day; They played at sports; they played at love; they played at being gay. They were but empty, silk-clad shells; their souls had leaked away. He saw the sweat-shop and the mill where little children toiled, The sunless rooms where mothers slaved and unborn souls were spoiled; While those whose greedy, selfish lives had thrust the toilers there, He saw whirled down broad avenues, clothed all with raiment fair. He saw in homes made beautiful with all that gold can give Unhappy souls at odds with life, not knowing how to live. He saw fair, pampered women turn from motherhood’s sweet joy, Obsessed with methods to prevent or mania to destroy. He saw men sell their souls to vice and avarice and greed; He heard race quarrelling with race and creed decrying creed; And shameful wealth and waste He saw, and shameful want and need. He saw bold little children come from church and schoolroom, blind To suffering of lesser things, unfeeling and unkind; He heard them taunt the poor, and tease their furred and feathered kin; And no voice spake from home or church to tell them this was sin. He heard the cry of wounded things, the wasteful gun’s report; He saw the morbid craze to kill, which Christian men called sport. And then God hid His grieving face behind a wall of cloud, On earth they said, ‘A thunder-storm’—but God had wept aloud. IT MAY BE _Let us be silent for a little while_; _Let us be still and listen_. _We may hear_ _Echoes from other worlds not far a way_. City on city rising, steeple out-topping steeple, Gaining and hoarding and spending, and armies on battle bent, People and people and people, and ever more human people— This is not all of creation, this is not all that was meant! Earth on its orbit spinning, This is not end or beginning; That is but one of a trillion spheres out into the ether hurled: We move in a zone of wonder, And over our planet and under Are infinite orders of beings and marvels of world on world. There may be moving among us curious people and races, Folk of the fourth dimension, folk of the vast star spaces. They may be trying to reach us, They may be longing to teach us Things we are longing to know. If it is so, Voices like these are not heard in earth’s riot, Let us be quiet. Classes with classes disputing, nation warring with nation, Building and owning and seeking to lead—this is not all! Endless the works of creation, There may be waiting our call Beings in numberless legions, Dwellers in rarefied regions, Journeying Godward like us, Alist for a word to be spoken, Awatch for a sign or a token. If it be thus, How they must grieve at our riotous noise And the things we call duties and joys!