375. Foreword

A Song of the Little City

AT intervals of tunes

And under lonely towers,

Where silences of noons

Cover their secret flowers,

In places no one knows,

Where winding ways go down,

In the dim heart of a rose,

I find the Little Town.

When my soul wearieth

Of cities proud and great,

Whose skies are dark as death,

But gold is in their gate:

When my soul sorry is

For ships of great renown,

And rich men’s palaces,

I seek the Little Town.

Upon a hill it stands,

Built up with quiet walls,

Guarding inviolate lands,

A place of festivals,

A place of happy bells,

Where comes no earthly one,

Beyond the heavens and hells,

Between the moon and sun.

Between the moon and sun,

Far, far beyond the stars,

Where comes not any one,

Nor roll the great world’s cars,

With an angel all day through,

That wears a golden crown,

And is robed in red and blue,

I find the Little Town.

Fountains are playing there,

And children dance all day,

Who are far lovelier

Than any fabled fay,

And in their festivals

Far, far away behold,

From the high carven walls,

Dim mountains made of gold.

And high above it all,

With arches rich and fine,

A minster towering tall

Proclaims the place divine:

Where none to veil Him be,

And the birds of Eden sing,

I find the lord of me,

The Little City’s King.

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