It stands, that house, within a stone's throw of many a door in
which I sat friendless and forlorn, trying to hide from the policeman
who would not let me sleep; within hail of the Bend of the wicked
past, atoned for at last; of the Bowery boarding-house where I lay
senseless on the stairs after my first day's work in the newspaper
office, starved well-nigh to death. But the memory of the old days
has no sting. Its message is one of hope; the house itself is the
key-note. It is the pledge of a better day, of the defeat of the
slum with its helpless heredity of despair. That shall damn no longer
lives yet unborn. Children of God are we! that is our challenge to
the slum, and on earth we shall claim yet our heritage of light.
[Illustration: The Jacob A. Riis House No 50 Henry Street, New
York]
Of home and neighborliness restored it is the pledge. The want of
them makes the great gap in the city life that is to be our modern
civic life. With the home preserved we may look forward without
fear; there is no question that can be asked of the Republic to
which we shall not find the answer.
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