'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead <br />Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, <br />And the pale weaver, through his windows seen <br />In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited. <br />I met a preacher there I knew, and said: <br />"Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?" - <br />"Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been <br />Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread." <br />O human soul! as long as thou canst so <br />Set up a mark of everlasting light, <br />Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, <br />To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam - <br />Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night! <br />Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.<br /><br />Matthew Arnold<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/east-london/
