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poem for pastors

wie er wer Geist in der Flamme des Mittages
aber alas, gerade Träume
erneuern Sie den Anblick der Freude
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
wölbte die Flut
ich gehe meine Weise complacently
auf und ab geht ihn
sehen Sie, von dieser Fälschung von ihm
diese Herzen wurden von den menschlichen Freuden und Obacht gesponnen
im Hafen neuen Yorks
wenn, voll von der warmen und eifrigen Liebe
möglicherweise
ich stand
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand

 



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