Not in the solitude <br />Alone may man commune with heaven, or see <br />Only in savage wood <br />And sunny vale, the present Deity; <br />Or only hear his voice <br />Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. <br /> <br />Even here do I behold <br />Thy steps, Almighty!--here, amidst the crowd, <br />Through the great city rolled, <br />With everlasting murmur deep and loud-- <br />Choking the ways that wind <br />'Mongst the proud piles, the work of humankind. <br /> <br />Thy golden sunshine comes <br />From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, <br />And lights their inner homes; <br />For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, <br />And givest them the stores <br />Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. <br /> <br />Thy spirit is around, <br />Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; <br />And this eternal sound-- <br />Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng-- <br />Like the resounding sea, <br />Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. <br /> <br />And when the hours of rest <br />Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, <br />Hushing its billowy breast-- <br />The quiet of that moment too is thine; <br />It breathes of him who keeps <br />The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymn-of-the-city/
