  THE smoke in vaster volumes rolls, The fever fiend takes larger tolls, And sin a fiercer grip of souls, In London day by day. Still Buggins builds on swampy site, And Eiffel houses block the light, And make a town of dreadful night Of London day by day. In fashion’s long and busy street, The outcast foreign harlots meet, While Robert smiles upon his beat, In London day by day. Still modest maidens’ cheeks are stung With foulest words from wanton’s tongue, And oaths yelled out with leathern lung, In London day by day. Wealth riots in a mad excess, While thousands, poor and penniless, Starve in the mighty wilderness, Of London day by day. Wrong proudly rears its wicked head, While Right’s sad eyes with tears are red, And sluggard Justice lies abed, In London day by day. The liar triumphs, and the knave Rides buoyant on the rolling wave, And Liberty makes many a slave In London day by day. Yet Hope and Trust and Faith and Love, And God’s fair dowers from above, Still find a branch, like Noah’s dove, In London day by day. And onward still, though slow the pace, Press pilgrims of our grand old race, Who seek the Right with firm-set face, And shed Truth’s light by God’s good grace O’er London day by day. |
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