The Soul of the City Receives the Gift of the Holy Spirit

A Broadside distributed in Springfield, Illinois

Censers are swinging Over the town; Censers are swinging, Look overhead! Censers are swinging, Heaven comes down. City, dead city, Awake from the dead! Censers, tremendous, Gleam overhead. Wind-harps are ringing, Wind-harps unseen— Calling and calling:— "Wake from the dead. Rise, little city, Shine like a queen." Soldiers of Christ For battle grow keen. Heaven-sent winds Haunt alley and lane. Singing of life In town-meadows green After the toil And battle and pain. Incense is pouring Like the spring rain Down on the mob That moil through the street. Blessed are they Who behold it and gain Power made more mighty Thro' every defeat. Builders, toil on. Make all complete. Make Springfield wonderful. Make her renown Worthy this day, Till, at God's feet, Tranced, saved forever, Waits the white town. Censers are swinging Over the town, Censers gigantic! Look overhead! Hear the winds singing:— "Heaven comes down. City, dead city, Awake from the dead."

Sometimes we remember kisses, Remember the dear heart-leap when they came: Not always, but sometimes we remember The kindness, the dumbness, the good flame Of laughter and farewell. Beside the road Afar from those who said "Good-by" I write, Far from my city task, my lawful load. Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder, Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night Enchant me now. The splendors growing bolder Make bold my soul for some new wise delight. I write the day's event, and quench my drouth, Pausing beside the spring with happy mind. And now I feel those kisses on my mouth, Hers most of all, one little friend most kind.