Cries that in channelled glory leap and shine,
My Village Gospel, living evermore
Amid rejoicing, loyal friends of mine.
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.