LONDON'S VOICES

In all my work, in all the 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 work, 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!