I LOVE TO PACE THE RUIN'D CELL.
I
I love to pace the ruin'd cell
Where cloister'd monks were wont to dwell,
They heard the tolling of the bell
With parade of sanctity.
I view the wild flow'r on the wall,
Their marble tombs neglected fall,
And with the psalmist say that all,
All—all, is vanity!
II
Though built for penitence and pray'r,
Unholy thoughts have enter'd there
And secret sin must ever share,
The secret misery.
More happy and more holy they,
Who purely live, and meekly pray,
And shun a proud, yet false display,
For all, all is vanity!
