East London
'Twas
August,
and
the
fierce
sun
overhead
Smote
on
the
squalid
streets
of
Bethnal
Green,
And
the
pale
weaver,
through
his
windows
seen
In
Spitalfields,
looked
thrice
dispirited.
I
met
a
preacher
there
I
knew,
and
said:
"Ill
and
o'erworked,
how
fare
you
in
this
scene?"
-
"Bravely!"
said
he;
"for
I
of
late
have
been
Much
cheered
with
thoughts
of
Christ,
the
living
bread."
O
human
soul!
as
long
as
thou
canst
so
Set
up
a
mark
of
everlasting
light,
Above
the
howling
senses'
ebb
and
flow,
To
cheer
thee,
and
to
right
thee
if
thou
roam
-
Not
with
lost
toil
thou
labourest
through
the
night!
Thou
mak'st
the
heaven
thou
hop'st
indeed
thy
home.