| |
| YOU who dread the cares and labors | |
| Of the tenant’s annual quest, | |
| You who long for peace and rest, | |
| And the quietest of neighbors, | |
| You may find them, if you will, | 5 |
| In the city on the hill. | |
| |
| One indulgent landlord leases | |
| All the pleasant dwellings there; | |
| He has tenants everywhere,— | |
| Every day the throng increases; | 10 |
| None may tell their number, yet | |
| He has mansions still to let. | |
| |
| Never presses he for payment; | |
| Gentlest of all landlords he; | |
| And his numerous tenantry | 15 |
| Never lack for food or raiment. | |
| Sculptured portal, grassy roof, | |
| All alike are trouble-proof. | |
| |
| Of the quiet town’s frequenters, | |
| Never one is ill at ease; | 20 |
| There are neither locks nor keys, | |
| Yet no robber breaks or enters; | |
| Not a dweller bolts his door, | |
| Fearing for his treasure-store. | |
| |
| Never sound of strife or clamor | 25 |
| Troubles those who dwell therein; | |
| Never toil’s distracting din, | |
| Stroke of axe, nor blow of hammer; | |
| Crimson clover sheds its sweets | |
| Even in the widest streets. | 30 |
| |
| Never tenant old or younger | |
| Suffers illness or decline; | |
| There no suffering children pine; | |
| There comes never want nor hunger; | |
| Woe and need no longer reign; | 35 |
| Poverty forgets its pain. | |
| |
| Turmoil and unrest and hurry | |
| Stay forevermore outside; | |
| By the hearts which there abide | |
| Wrong, privation, doubt, and worry | 40 |
| Are forgotten quite, or seem | |
| Only like a long-past dream. | |
| |
| Never slander nor detraction | |
| Enters there, and never heard | |
| Is a sharp or cruel word; | 45 |
| No unworthy thought or action, | |
| Purpose or intent of ill | |
| Knows the city on the hill. | |
| |
| There your mansion never waxes | |
| Out of date, nor needs repairs; | 50 |
| There intrude no sordid cares; | |
| There are neither rent nor taxes; | |
| And no vexed and burdened brain | |
| Reckons either loss or gain. | |
| |
| Wanderers, tired with long endeavor, | 55 |
| You whom, since your being’s dawn, | |
| With the stern command “Move on!” | |
| Ruthless Fate has tracked forever, | |
| Here at last your footsteps stay | |
| With no dread of moving-day! | 60 |
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