There in the midst of the city,
Bounded by turbulent streets,
Rivers of strife and of passion,
Lieth the acre of God.

There in the ocean of frenzy,
Safe from the wrath of its waves,
Quiet for years and forever
Resteth the Island of Peace.

Out from the portals of heaven
Shineth a beautiful light,
Gilding its mountains with splendor,
Flooding its hollows with love.

Gayly the slumberous poppy
Bloometh o'er valley and slope,
And by each dwelling-place windeth
Lethe, soft-rippling and deep.

God save the soul in the waters,
Clinging to hope like a spar,
Longing to rest on the island
In its ineffable hush!

Once on a magical Sabbath,
Wandering there in the morn,
Learned I a wonderful lesson,
Simple, yet greater than speech.

There, on a moss-covered marble,
Liveth the name of a babe,
Laid in the cradle of Nature
Years twice a hundred ago.

Grieve for it not, O ye mothers!
She that mourned longest is dead;
Lives that are ended are equal,
All of them equal and naught.

Heartaches and sorrows and troubles,
Are they not weeds of a day,
Sown in the dust of our bodies,
Having no roots in the soul?

This was the question I pondered,
When, like an answer from God,
Suddenly thundered above me
All of old Trinity's bells.

Chant yet again, brazen singers!
Chant till the measureless sky,
Yea, and the dust of the church-yard
Tremble to glorious chimes.