Side by side rise the two great cities,
⁠Afar on the traveller's sight;
One, black with the dust of labor,
⁠One, solemnly still and white.
Apart, and yet together,
⁠They are reached in a dying breath,
But a river flows between them,
⁠And the river's name is — death.

Apart, and yet together,
⁠Together and yet apart,
As the child may die at midnight
⁠On the mother's living heart.
So close come the two great cities,
⁠With only the river between;
And the grass in the one is trampled,
⁠But the grass in the other is green.

The hills with uncovered foreheads,
⁠Like the disqiples meet,
While ever the flowing water
⁠Is washing their hallowed feet.
And out on the glassy ocean,
⁠The sails in the golden gloom
Seem to me but moving shadows
⁠Of the white enmarbled tomb.

Anon, from the hut and the palace,
⁠Anon, from early till late,
They come, rich and poor together,
⁠Asking alms at thy beautiful gate.
And never had life a guerdon
⁠So welcome to all to give,
In the land where the living are dying,
⁠As the land where the dead may live.

O silent city of refuge
⁠On the way to the city o'erhead!
The gleam of thy marble milestones
⁠Tells the distance we are from the dead.
Full of feet, but a city untrodden,
⁠Full of hands, but a city unbuilt,
Full of strangers who know not even
⁠That their life-cup lies there spilt.

They know not the tomb from the palace,
⁠They dream not they ever have died:
God be thanked they never will know it
⁠Till they live on the other side!
From the doors that death shut coldly
⁠On the face of their last lone woe:
They came to thy glades for shelter
⁠Who had nowhere else to go.

⁠Joy's the shyest bird
⁠Mortal ever heard;
Listen rapt and silent when he sings;
⁠Do not seek to see,
⁠Lest the vision be
But a flutter of departing wings.

⁠Straight down out of heaven
⁠Drops the fiery leaven,
Beating, burning, rising in his breast;
⁠Never, never long
⁠Canst thou bear the song,
All too high for labor or for rest.

⁠Hope can sit and sing
⁠With a folded wing,
Long contented in a narrow cage;
⁠Patience on the nest,
⁠Hour by hour will rest,
Brooding tender things in hermitage.

⁠Singers true and sweet,
⁠Mockers bright and fleet,
Close about thy door they flit and call;
⁠One that will not stay
⁠Draws thy heart away;
Listen! listen! It is more than all.

The day dies slowly in the western sky;
The sunset splendor fades, and wan and cold
The far peaks wait the sunrise; cheerily
The goatherd calls his wanderers to their fold:
⁠My weary soul, that fain would cease to roam,
⁠Take comfort; evening bringeth all things home.

Homeward the swift-winged seagull takes its flight;
The ebbing tide breaks softly on the sand;
The red-sailed boats draw shoreward for the night;
The shadows deepen over sea and land:
⁠Be still, my soul; thine hour shall also come;
⁠Behold, one evening God shall lead thee home.

Lento el dia va declinando al ocaso;
El brillante sol decae, y su levante
Aguardan las sierras lejanas; con alegre paso
El cabrero se retira con sus rebanos delante:
⁠O alma mia, tan oprimida y lasa,
⁠Confortate, que la noche lleva á todos á casa.

La gaviota aligera se refugia á su nido;
Las olas menguantes se rompen en la ribera;
Los barcos sol-dorados hácia tierra han ido;
Las sombras se ofuscan sobre el mar y la tierra:
⁠Aquiétate, mi alma, tu hora tambien ven-dra,
⁠Que Dios una noche á casa te guiara.