Hymn of the City

Not in the solitude

Alone may man commune with heaven, or see

Only in savage wood

And sunny vale, the present Deity;

Or only hear his voice

Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold

Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd,

Through the great city rolled,

With everlasting murmur deep and loud --

Choking the ways that wind

`Mongst the proud piles, the work of humankind.

Thy golden sunshine comes

From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies,

And lights their inner homes;

For them thou fill`st with air the unbounded skies,

And givest them the stores

Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.

Thy spirit is around,

Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;

And this eternal sound--

Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng--

Like the resounding sea,

Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.

And when the hours of rest

Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,

Hushing its billowy breast--

The quiet of that moment too is thine;

It breathes of him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.