Shine, shine, the light of good works shine
The watch before the city gates depicted in their
prime
That golden light all grimy now
Three hundred years have passed
The worthy
Captain and his squad of troopers standing fast
The artist knew their faces well
The
husbands of his lady friends
His creditors and councillors
In armour bright, the merchant
men
Official moments of the guild
In poses keen from bygone days
The city
fathers frozen there
Upon the canvas dark with age
The smell of paint, a flask of
wine
And turn those faces all to me
The blunderbuss and halberd-shaft
And Dutch
respectability
They make their entrance one by one
Defenders of that way of
life
The redbrick home, the bourgeoisie
Guitar lessons for the wife
So many
years we suffered here
Our country racked with Spanish wars
Now comes a chance to find
ourselves
And quiet reigns behind our doors
We think about posterity again
And
so the pride of little men
The burghers good and true
Still living through the painter's
hand
Request you all to understand
