That o'er some town, like mist upraised,
  Hung hiding sun and star,
  Then as ye turned your weary eye
  To the green earth and open sky,
  Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell
Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel?

  But Love's a flower that will not die
  For lack of leafy screen,
  And Christian Hope can cheer the eye
  That ne'er saw vernal green;
  Then be ye sure that Love can bless
  E'en in this crowded loneliness,
  Where ever-moving myriads seem to say,
Go—thou art naught to us, nor we to thee—away!

  There are in this loud stunning tide
  Of human care and crime,
  With whom the melodies abide
  Of th' everlasting chime;
  Who carry music in their heart
  Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,
  Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

  How sweet to them, in such brief rest
  As thronging cares afford,
  In thought to wander, fancy-blest,
  To where their gracious Lord,
  In vain, to win proud Pharisees,
  Spake, and was heard by fell disease -
  But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake,
Bade the meek Publican his gainful seat forsake:

  At once he rose, and left his gold;
  His treasure and his heart
  Transferred, where he shall safe behold
  Earth and her idols part;
  While he beside his endless store
  Shall sit, and floods unceasing pour
  Of Christ's true riches o'er all time and space,
First angel of His Church, first steward of His Grace.

  Nor can ye not delight to think
  Where He vouchsafed to eat,
  How the Most Holy did not shrink
  From touch of sinner's meat;