BY CHARLES W. BAIRD.
Forgive me, Lord, that I so long have dwelt
In noisome cities, whence Thy sacred works
Are ever banished from my sight; where lurks
Each baleful passion man has ever felt.
Here human skill is shown in shutting out
All sight and thought of things that God hath made;
Lest He should share the constant homage paid
To Mammon, in the hearts of men devout.
O, it was fit that he [2] upon whose head
Weighed his own brother's blood, and God's dread curse,
Should build a city, when he trembling fled
Far from his Maker's face. And which was worse,
The murder—or departing far from Thee?
Great God! impute not either sin to me!