What Then?

When all the great plants of our cities
Have turned out their last finished work,
When the merchants have made the last bargain
And dismissed the last tired clerk,
When our banks have raked in their last dollar,
And paid out the last dividend,
When the Judge of the Earth says,
“Closed for the night”,
And asks for the balance — What then?

When the choir has sung its last anthem,
And the preacher has said his last prayer;
When the people have heard their last sermon,
And the sound has died out on the air;
When the Bible lies closed on the pulpit,
And the pews are all empty of men;
When each one stands facing his record,
And the Great Book is opened — What then?

When the actor has played his last drama,
And the mimic has made his last fun,
When the movies have made their last picture,
And the billboard displayed its last run,
When the crowds seeking pleasure have vanished
And gone into darkness again,
When the world that rejected its Saviour
Is asked for a reason — What then?

When the bugle’s last call dies in silence,
And the long marching columns stand still,
When the captain has given his last order,
And they’ve captured the last fort and hill;
When the flag has been hauled from the masthead,
And the wounded have all been checked in;
When the trumpet, the last one, is sounded
And we stand before him — What then?