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THE CITY.

You may smile, or sneer, or pity,

You may fancy it weak and strange; My eye to yon smoky city,

Still returns from its widest range.

My heart, in its inmost beatings, Ever lingers around its homes; My soul wakes up in its greetings, To the gleam of its spires and domes.

You call it life's weary common, At the best but an idle fair, The market of man and woman ,­But the choice of the race are there.

The wonders of life and gladness,

All the wonders of hope and fear; The wonders of death and sadness,

All the wonders of time are there.

In your lone lake's still face yonder, By your rivulet's bursting glee, Deep truth I may read and ponder, Of the earth and its mystery,

There seems, in yon city's motion, Yet a mightier truth for me; " Tis the sound of life's great ocean, " Tis the tides of the human sea.

O'er the fields of earth lie scattered, Noble fruitage and blossoms rare; Yon city the store has gathered,

And the garner of hearts is there.