 | Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper |  |
74
A Thought in a Thoroughfare.
Surging on in ceaseless shoals
Thousands of immortal souls,
Wave on wave of restless life
Crested rough with selfish strife,—
What a cavalcade comes nigh
In this crowd of passers by!
Thousands of immortal souls,
Wave on wave of restless life
Crested rough with selfish strife,—
What a cavalcade comes nigh
In this crowd of passers by!
O the sorrows, pains, and cares,—
O the troubles, sins, and snares,—
O the histories past belief
Piled with wrong and soak'd in grief,—
O the hidden woes that lie
In this crowd of passers by!
O the troubles, sins, and snares,—
O the histories past belief
Piled with wrong and soak'd in grief,—
O the hidden woes that lie
In this crowd of passers by!
76
Watch the faces as they pass;
What a strangely changeful mass,—
Business, pleasure, duty, sin,
War without, or peace within,
Glooms or gladdens every eye
In this crowd of passers by.
What a strangely changeful mass,—
Business, pleasure, duty, sin,
War without, or peace within,
Glooms or gladdens every eye
In this crowd of passers by.
There, is vice and wanton youth,—
There, contented worth and truth,—
There, the sons of toil and skill,—
And the thousands gather still
—Ah! poor monad, what am I
In this crowd of passers by?
There, contented worth and truth,—
There, the sons of toil and skill,—
And the thousands gather still
—Ah! poor monad, what am I
In this crowd of passers by?
Each of all the multitude
Hath his evil and his good;
Every one his hopes and fears,
All alike their joys and tears;
All must suffer, all must die
In this crowd of passers by!
Hath his evil and his good;
Every one his hopes and fears,
All alike their joys and tears;
All must suffer, all must die
In this crowd of passers by!
77
Craving body, yearning soul,
Each is to himself a whole;
And how little any cares
How his fainting brother fares;
And how frequent is the sigh
In this crowd of passers by!
Each is to himself a whole;
And how little any cares
How his fainting brother fares;
And how frequent is the sigh
In this crowd of passers by!
Yet as thus I move along
Carried onward by the throng,
In a solitude I seem
Walking in a peopled dream,
Where around me phantoms fly
In this crowd of passers by.
Carried onward by the throng,
In a solitude I seem
Walking in a peopled dream,
Where around me phantoms fly
In this crowd of passers by.
All alone I stand aside
Listening to the human tide,
Till my shuddering spirit hears
Wailing down the gulph of years
An exceeding bitter cry
From that crowd of passers by.
Listening to the human tide,
Till my shuddering spirit hears
Wailing down the gulph of years
An exceeding bitter cry
From that crowd of passers by.
| Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper | |