Page:General William Booth enters into Heaven, and other poems.djvu/134

118 Let no man rule who holds his money dear. Let this, our city, be our luxury. We should build parks that students from afar Would choose to starve in, rather than go home, Fair little squares, with Phidian ornament, Food for the spirit, milk and honeycomb.

Songs shall be sung by us in that good day, Songs we have written, blood within the rhyme Beating, as when Old England still was glad,&mdash; The purple, rich Elizabethan time. Say, is my prophecy too fair and far? I only know, unless her faith be high, The soul of this, our Nineveh, is doomed, Our little Babylon will surely die.

Some city on the breast of Illinois No wiser and no better at the start By faith shall rise redeemed, by faith shall rise Bearing the western glory in her heart. The genius of the Maple, Elm and Oak, The secret hidden in each grain of corn,