A CITY CRY

[ZaunköniG]

A CITY CRY

HERE hoarsely moan the floods of human woe.
And evermore, along the busy streets.
The iron hoof of traffic loudly beats,
And lean-faced avarice shuffles to and fro ;

Here grudgingly the feet of mercy go
Where gaunt and grimy squalor sits and eats
Her bitter bread, and here, through foul retreats,
Death's noisome currents darkly ebb and flow.

O God, of those sweet airs which blow between
The emerald hills, let me e'er breathe ; keep me,
Far from the roaring city, in Thy green

And quiet solitudes, where I may see
The birds, the flowers, the grass, and sweetly lean
My heart upon the peace and love, of Thee.