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Poem	When I was cub reporter I Would interview the Great, And sometimes they would make reply, And sometimes hesitate; But often they would sharply say, With bushy eyebrows bent: "Young man, your answer for to-day Is - No Comment." Nigh sixty years have called the tune, And silver is my pate; No longer do I importune Important men of state; But time has made me wise, and so When button-holed I shake My head and say: "To-day, I've no Comment to make." Oh, silence is a mighty shield, Verbosity is vain; let others wordy warfare wield, From arguments abstain; When faced with dialectic foes Just shrug and turn away: Be sure your wisest words are those You do not say. Yea, Silence is a gleaming sword Whose wounds are hard to heal; Its quiet stuns the spoken word More than a thunder peal; Against it there is no defense, For like the grave-yard sod Its hush is Heaven's eloquence, The VOICE OF GOD.
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