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LET not our town be largeâremembering |
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That little Athens was the Musesâ home; |
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That Oxford rules the heart of London still, |
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That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome. |
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Record it for the grandson of your sonâ |
5 |
A city is not builded in a day: |
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Our little town cannot complete her soul |
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Till countless generations pass away. |
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Now let each child be joined as to a church |
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To her perpetual hopes, each man ordained; |
10 |
Let every street be made a reverent aisle |
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Where music grows, and beauty is unchained. |
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Let Science and Machinery and Trade |
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Be slaves of her, and make her all in allâ |
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Building against our blatant restless time |
15 |
An unseen, skillful, mediĂŚval wall. |
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Let every citizen be rich toward God. |
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Let Christ, the beggar, teach divinityâ |
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Let no man rule who holds his money dear. |
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Let this, our city, be our luxury. |
20 |
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We should build parks that students from afar |
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Would choose to starve in, rather than go homeâ |
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Fair little squares, with Phidian ornamentâ |
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Food for the spirit, milk and honeycomb. |
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Songs shall be sung by us in that good dayâ |
25 |
Songs we have writtenâblood within the rhyme |
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Beating, as when old England still was glad, |
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The purple, rich, Elizabethan time. |
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Say, is my prophecy too fair and far? |
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I only know, unless her faith be high, |
30 |
The soul of this our Nineveh is doomed, |
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Our little Babylon will surely die. |
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Some city on the breast of Illinois |
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No wiser and no better at the start, |
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By faith shall rise redeemedâby faith shall rise |
35 |
Bearing the western glory in her heartâ |
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The genius of the Maple, Elm and Oak, |
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The secret hidden in each grain of cornâ |
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The glory that the prairie angels sing |
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At night when sons of Life and Love are bornâ |
40 |
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Born but to struggle, squalid and alone, |
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Broken and wandering in their early years. |
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When will they make our dusty streets their goal, |
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Within our attics hide their sacred tears? |
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When will they start our vulgar blood athrill |
45 |
With living languageâwords that set us free? |
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When will they make a path of beauty clear |
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Between our riches and our liberty? |
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We must have many Lincoln-hearted menâ |
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A city is not builded in a dayâ |
50 |
And they must do their work, and come and go |
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While countless generations pass away. |