THE CITY.

The smoke, the din, and the bustle Of the city, I know them well, And I know the gentle rustle

Of the leaves in your breezy dell.

Day's hurry and evening's riot

In the city, I know them all; I know too the loving quiet

Of your glen at the day's sweet fall.

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I know too each grim old alley,

With the blanch'd ray flickering through, I know each sweep of your valley,

Where the rosy light dies in dew. I know too the stifling sadness

Of the summer- noon's sultry street; I've breathed the air of your gladness, Where the streams and the breezes meet. I know the dun haunts of fever, Where the blossoms of youth decay; I know where your free broad river Sweeps disease on its breast away. Yet despite your earnest pity, And despite its own smoke and din, I cling to yon crowded city,

Though I shrink from its woe and sin, For I know its boundless measure,

Of the true, and the good, and fair; Its vast and far- gathered treasure,

All the wealth of soul that is there.