All quiet, dear city, afar off below;
All starry, a stranger to mourning and woe.
At nighttime your beauty is borne on the view,
To a hill where the watchful have fashioned a pew;
Who long for the substance of things now forgot,
Striving for wonders the world never sought.
At night, to the hillside the frolicking breeze
Unfolds from the darkness of deepening seas;
And dances aloft from the slumbering gleam,
Swirling the cold of terrestrial beams.
At daybreak, the morning sweeps over the hills;
The sleepers arise to their differing wills,
And fill up the valley with voices below,
Of deafening folly and his whispering foe,
But heed not the rustles that linger beyond,
Reminding each soul of its common bond.
Speak to them, city, of the twinkling view
Where oft I have wandered to gaze over you;
Speak of the softness of breezes that play
Upon the green hillsides, so far and away.
Whisper of all of the wonders I see,
And send them, dear city, to be here with me.