(Contemporary American poet)
In vain she points her finger to the sky
And sends her voice along the famous street,
Admonishing how the mortal hours fleet
And bidding men bethink that they must die.
Tearing the coat of Christ they jostle by
And ply their gambling at her very feet.
“Prepare, prepare, prepare thy God to meet!”
She loudly calls. They do not heed her. Why?
Thou, stuffed with tithes of them that traffic here,