Providence

Where bay and river tranquil blend, And leafy hillsides rise, The spires of Providence ascend Against the ancient skies, And in the narrow winding ways That climb o'er slope and crest, The magic of forgotten days May still be found to rest. A fanlight's gleam, a knocker's blow, A glimpse of Georgian brick - The sights and sounds of long ago Where fancies cluster thick. A flight of steps with iron rail, A belfry looming tall, A slender steeple, carved and pale, A moss-grown garden wall. A hidden churchyard's crumbling proofs Of man's mortality, A rotting wharf where gambrel roofs Keep watch above the sea. Square and parade, whose walls have towered Full fifteen decades long By cobbled ways 'mid trees embowered, And slighted by the throng. Stone bridges spanning languid streams, Houses perched on the hill, And courts where mysteries and dreams The brooding spirit fill. Steep alley steps by vines concealed, Where small-paned windows glow At twilight on a bit of field That chance has left below. My Providence! What airy hosts Turn still thy gilded vanes; What winds of elf that with grey ghosts People thine ancient lanes! The chimes of evening as of old Above thy valleys sound, While thy stern fathers 'neath the mould Make blest thy sacred ground.