Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd Through the great city rolled With everlasting murmurs deep and loud-- Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. The 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 harvest 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 hour of rest Comes 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. --William Cullen Bryant. No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Believe not each accusing tongue, As most weak people do; But still believe that story wrong Which ought not to be true. --Richard Brinsley Sheridan. CHRIST IN THE CITY Where cross the crowded ways of life Where sound the cries of race and clan, Above the noise of selfish strife, We hear thy voice, O Son of man. In haunts of wretchedness and need, On shadowed thresholds dark with fears, From paths where hide the lures of greed We catch the vision of thy tears. From tender childhood's helplessness, From woman's grief, man's burdened toil, From famished souls, from sorrow's stress, Thy heart has never known recoil. The cup of water given for Thee Still holds the freshness of thy grace; Yet long these multitudes to see The sweet compassion of thy face. O Master, from the mountain side Make haste to heal these hearts of pain, Among these restless throngs abide, O tread the city's streets again, Till sons of men shall learn thy love And follow where thy feet have trod; Till glorious from thy heaven above Shall come the city of our God. --Frank Mason North. Who seeks for heaven alone to save his soul May keep the path, but will not reach the goal; While he who walks in love may wander far, But God will bring him where the blessed are. --Henry van Dyke. Persuasion, friend, comes not by toil or art, Hard study never made the matter clearer; 'Tis the live fountain in the preacher's heart Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer. --Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. SPEAK OUT