doth any man consider what we waste

here in god’s garden? while the sea is full,

the sunlight smiles, and all the blessed earth

offers her wealth to our intelligence.

we waste our food, enough for half the world,

in helpless luxury among the rich,

in helpless ignorance among the poor,

in spilling what we stop to quarrel for.

we waste our wealth in failing to produce,

in robbing of each other every day

in place of making things,—our human crown.

we waste our strength, in endless effort poured

like water on the sand, still toiling on

to make a million things we do not want.

we waste our lives, those which should still lead on

each new one gaining on the age behind,

in doing what we all have done before.

we waste our love,—poured up into the sky,

across the ocean, into desert lands,

sunk in one narrow circle next ourselves,—

while these, our brothers, suffer—are alone.

ye may not pass the near to love the far;

ye may not love the near and stop at that.

love spreads through man, not over or around!

yea, grievously we waste; and all the time

humanity is wanting,—wanting sore.

waste not, my brothers, and ye shall not want!