Unless the Lord builds the house In vain do we clear the land; Unless the lord guards the city In vain do we pave the field. Useless all this business as usual Passing any buck that resists being made. Look. God pays well Only those able to rest in the city that never sleeps. Above the rat race, pushing and shoving Grabbing the last seat on the bus Is a civic vocation A sense of urban purpose: Art, education, the evolution Of dead-end species of thought, And the slow recovery of spirit Where was felled the sacred forest. Happy the city that counts Its debt to earth And finds its honor and life In paying back.