John Curtis Underwood

HIGH on Manhattan’s tallest tower

The clock keeps watch and tells the hour.

The chimes ring out their reveille.

The city wakes and turns to see

Its campanile’s shaft of light

Against the sunrise. All the night

It points its finger to the sky.

All day the multitudes march by;

While like a skylark’s song there falls

To waken souls in prison walls

To thoughts of meadows far away

From dusty rooms that hide the day;

Of snowpeaks and the open sea;

Of all the city’s symphony

This note supernal and supreme

Teaching the toilers how to dream.