THE MUCK-RAKER.

THE MUCK-RAKER.
468.6

He sang of the glory of cities,
Of pillar and spire and mart;
Of domes unreared and of God stiil feared,
Of good in the human heart.
He sang of the hopes, uplifting,
Of duty made clear and clear,
But they called him an idle dreamer
And few of them came to hear.

He sang of the Shame of cities,
Of hearts that were wholly bad,
Of reeking filth as the devil’s tilth
Of the human soil he had.
He sang of the soul as evil,
Of mankind as vile and mean,
And they heard and called him Prophet-
The Prophet of Things Unclean!

And one was the thrush at even
Whose song as the twilight came
Like a benediction uttered
To lift up the soul from shame;
And one was the beaked vulture
That screamed as it took its toll
In stench and shred and morsel
From the filth of a rotting soul
-J. W. Foley In N. Y. Times.