There are green islands in the city sea,
Where all day long, the endless, passionate waves
Beat, yet destroy not; and their quiet saves
How many a heart grown sick with memory!

Not derelicts alone are foundered there,
But children with the laughter of the May--
Bright, living flowers--in these glad gardens play,
Knowing, yet knowing not, the town's despair!

God made the ocean, where tumultuously
The loud storms burst; and Babylon He made;
Yet all the hills are His, dim valley and glade--
There are green islands in the city sea.