Classic Poem

Was it hundreds of years ago, my love,
Was it thousands of miles away,
That two poor creatures we know, my love,
Were toiling day by day;
Were toiling weary, weary,
With many myriads more,
In a city dark and dreary
On a sullen river's shore?

Was it truly a fact or a dream, my love?
I think my brain still reels,
And my ears still throbbing seem, my love,
With the rush and the clang of wheels;
Of a vast machinery roaring
For ever in skyless gloom;
Where the poor slaves peace imploring,
Found peace alone in the tomb.

Was it hundreds of years ago, my love,
Was it thousands of miles away?
Or was it a dream to show, my love,
The rapture of to-day?
This day of holy splendour,
This Sabbath of rich rest,
Wherein to God we render
All praise by being blest.