* * * * *
For her my tears shall fall,
For her my prayers ascend;
To her my cares and toils be given,
Till toils and cares shall end.
_Love to the Church_. T. Dwight.
As some to Church repair,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
_Essay on Criticism_. A. Pope.
Who builds a church to God, and not to fame,
Will never mark the marble with his name.
_Moral Essays, Epistle III_. A. Pope.
CITY.
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
_The Garden, Essay V_. A. Cowley.
I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
_Childe Harold, Canto III_. Lord Byron.
The people are the city.
_Coriolanus, Act iii. Sc. 1_. Shakespeare.
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me
than mast-hemmed Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop-edged waves of flood-tide?
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the
twilight, and the belated lighter?
_Crossing Brooklyn Ferry_. W. Whitman.
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town,
_Don Juan, Canto X_.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109