 | Ballads and Verses of the Spiritual Life |  |
I
In all my work, in all children's play,
I hear the ceaseless hum of London near;
It cries to me, I cannot choose but hear
Its never-ending wail, by night and day.
So many millions—is it vain to pray
That all may win such peace as I have here,
With books, and works, and little children dear?—
That flowers like mine may grow along their way?
I hear the ceaseless hum of London near;
It cries to me, I cannot choose but hear
Its never-ending wail, by night and day.
So many millions—is it vain to pray
That all may win such peace as I have here,
With books, and works, and little children dear?—
That flowers like mine may grow along their way?
Through all my happy life I hear the cry,
The exceeding bitter cry of human pain,
And shudder as the deathless wail sweeps by.
I can do nothing—even hope is vain
That the bright light of peace and purity
In those lost souls may ever shine again!
The exceeding bitter cry of human pain,
And shudder as the deathless wail sweeps by.
I can do nothing—even hope is vain
That the bright light of peace and purity
In those lost souls may ever shine again!
| Ballads and Verses of the Spiritual Life | |