THE SPRINGFIELD OF THE FAR FUTURE
Some day our town will grow old.
“She is wicked and raw,” men say,
“Awkward and brash and profane.”
But the years have a healing way.
The years of God are like bread,
Balm of Gilead and sweet.
And the soul of this little town
Our Father will make complete.
Some day our town will grow old,
Filled with the fullness of time,
Treasure on treasure heaped
Of beauty’s tradition sublime.
Proud and gay and grey
Like Hannah with Samuel blest.
Humble and girlish and white
Like Mary, the manger guest.
Like Mary the manger queen
Bringing the God of Light
Till Christmas is here indeed
And earth has no more of night,
And hosts of Magi come,
The wisest under the sun
Bringing frankincense and praise
For her gift of the Infinite One.