When London Calls! by Edgar Wallace

There's a voice that calls to Mecca, there's a voice that calls / to Rome. / (O the Holiest of Holies! O the Temple and the Shrine! ) / There's a bleating from a pasture, and it calls a wand'rer home. / (O the friskings of the yearlings, and the lowing of the kine! ) / There's a penetrating whisper that can rise above the gale / From the cot of thatch and plaster, from the oaken-gabled hall, / From the limpid lake of silver in the verdant velvet vale, / From the shamrock and the heather, / Hear the call!

There's a voice that calls the waster, when the doors of home / are shut. / (O the voice of club and chamber, and the arc-light burning / blue! ) / There's a voice that calls the trooper in his daub and wattle / hut. / (O the midnight cabs that rattle from the Strand to Waterloo! ) / There's a voice for ever calling from the Square and from the / Slum, / From the Hornsey Rise to Brixton, from St. Saviour's to St. / Paul's. / 'Tis the never-changing message of the everlasting 'Come' / To the brick and to the mortar. / London calls!