As I look up to the stars, lo, behold!
Comes to my ear, as to shepherds of old ,
Strains, as it were, from a heavenly choir ,
Singing, " O brothers who toil, never tire!
Justice will come if you look for it higher! "
Walk with me down through the furnace-like street,
Feel the hot paving-stones under my feet;
Breathe the dead air; smell the vile human smells;
Don't lag behind though your stomach rebels.
Now it is night, and the sun has long set;
Still how its rays seem to blister us yet.
Elbow your way through the sweltering mass,
Moist, pallid faces are turned as we pass
Some are of men who have toiled all day.
Children are screaming in dearth as they play;
Woe-begone women, with babes at the breast,
Sit in the doorways unkempt and half dressed.
All talk at once; the night passes in din.
Soon will the work of a new day begin.
Ah, 'tis enough to make angels despair;
This the thing they call taking the air!
Enter this hallway; climb five flights of stairs;
Visit the dens where the poor have their lairs, —
Kitchen and bedroom and parlor in one,
Cooking the life that was left by the sun, —
Windowless cupboards where men try to sleep,
Heedless of roaches and bugs as they creep.
Some born with fever, and here they must die,
Crowded like litters of pigs in a sty
One narrow house, rising floor above floor,
Holds a few hundred of mortals or more.
Up on a roof see a score or two lie,
Seeking for slumber beneath the dull sky.
Let us be proud of the city we've made,
After a day of ninety-nine in the shade.
Follow me now to the streets near the Park.
Palace and mansion loom up in the dark
Windows are closed; all the people have fled.
Surely this seems like a town of the dead.
Gone to the mountains or gone to the sea,
Traveling to Europe for two months or three;
Here they have left in the heat and the gloom
Houses as empty of life as the tomb.
Come, I've a latch-key, let's go in the room
Ghost-like through halls of what once was a home.
Look at the tables and pictures and all
Covered each one like a corpse with its pall
Beds of the softest invitingly stand,
Luxury wickedly cumbering the land.
Here, were the waifs of the slums to repose,
Soon they'd forget all their trials and woes.
Think what a blessing, — I say it with wrath, —
Could they but dip in this porcelain bath.
Miles upon miles of such houses stretch forth,
Bolted and barred from the south to the north.
Children may perish like flies in the heat,
How could we let them pollute a fine street?
Let us be proud of the city we've made,
After a day of ninety-nine in the shade.
Down on the curb again, what do I hear?
Up from the sewer comes a song harsh and clear .
List to the words of the devil's own choir ,
" Sodom, Gemorrah, with Sidon and Tyre ,
Wait for New York in the depths of hell-fire
Comes to my ear, as to shepherds of old ,
Strains, as it were, from a heavenly choir ,
Singing, " O brothers who toil, never tire!
Justice will come if you look for it higher! "
Walk with me down through the furnace-like street,
Feel the hot paving-stones under my feet;
Breathe the dead air; smell the vile human smells;
Don't lag behind though your stomach rebels.
Now it is night, and the sun has long set;
Still how its rays seem to blister us yet.
Elbow your way through the sweltering mass,
Moist, pallid faces are turned as we pass
Some are of men who have toiled all day.
Children are screaming in dearth as they play;
Woe-begone women, with babes at the breast,
Sit in the doorways unkempt and half dressed.
All talk at once; the night passes in din.
Soon will the work of a new day begin.
Ah, 'tis enough to make angels despair;
This the thing they call taking the air!
Enter this hallway; climb five flights of stairs;
Visit the dens where the poor have their lairs, —
Kitchen and bedroom and parlor in one,
Cooking the life that was left by the sun, —
Windowless cupboards where men try to sleep,
Heedless of roaches and bugs as they creep.
Some born with fever, and here they must die,
Crowded like litters of pigs in a sty
One narrow house, rising floor above floor,
Holds a few hundred of mortals or more.
Up on a roof see a score or two lie,
Seeking for slumber beneath the dull sky.
Let us be proud of the city we've made,
After a day of ninety-nine in the shade.
Follow me now to the streets near the Park.
Palace and mansion loom up in the dark
Windows are closed; all the people have fled.
Surely this seems like a town of the dead.
Gone to the mountains or gone to the sea,
Traveling to Europe for two months or three;
Here they have left in the heat and the gloom
Houses as empty of life as the tomb.
Come, I've a latch-key, let's go in the room
Ghost-like through halls of what once was a home.
Look at the tables and pictures and all
Covered each one like a corpse with its pall
Beds of the softest invitingly stand,
Luxury wickedly cumbering the land.
Here, were the waifs of the slums to repose,
Soon they'd forget all their trials and woes.
Think what a blessing, — I say it with wrath, —
Could they but dip in this porcelain bath.
Miles upon miles of such houses stretch forth,
Bolted and barred from the south to the north.
Children may perish like flies in the heat,
How could we let them pollute a fine street?
Let us be proud of the city we've made,
After a day of ninety-nine in the shade.
Down on the curb again, what do I hear?
Up from the sewer comes a song harsh and clear .
List to the words of the devil's own choir ,
" Sodom, Gemorrah, with Sidon and Tyre ,
Wait for New York in the depths of hell-fire