LONDON'S VOICES

In all my work, in all the children's play,

I hear the ceaseless hum of London near;

It cries to me, I cannot choose but hear

Its never-ending wail, by night and day.

So many millions — is it vain to pray

That all may win such peace as I have here,

With books, and work, and little children dear?—

That flowers like mine may grow along their way?

Through all my happy life I hear the cry,

The exceeding bitter cry of human pain,

And shudder as the deathless wail sweeps by.

I can do nothing — even hope is vain

That the bright light of peace and purity

In those lost souls may ever shine again!