Richard Watson Gilder

OH, dear is the song of the pine

When the wind of the night-time blows,

And dear is the murmuring river

That afar through my childhood flows;

And soft is the raindrops’ beat

And the fountain’s lyric play,

But to me no music is half so sweet

As the thunder of Broadway!

Stream of the living world

Where dash the billows of strife!—

One plunge in the mighty torrent

Is a year of tamer life!

City of glorious days,

Of hope, and labour, and mirth,

With room, and to spare, on thy splendid bays

For the ships of all the earth!