The Poet’s Task
By Margaret Hoblitt
(In “Charities and Commons.”)
Wouldst thou be a poet of these latter days?
Turn then thine eye from joy, thine ear from praise!
Go where the city’s pallid millions throng,
And of their sorrows fashion thee a song.
Sing of unending toil,—of childhood’s blight—
Of weary day that dawns on weary night.
Sing, if thou canst, of womanhood in shame,—
Of manhood bartered for a place and name.
Sing of a flower that never knew the sun;
Sing of a virtue dead ere ’twas begun!
Then, lest our hearts break and our faith grow cold,
Sing better things to be, ere time is old.
Sing ’midst the tears, and touch men’s souls with fire,
Till God fulfill through thee His Great Desire.