 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
144
3. THE PILGRIM ON A ROCK.
Remote from noise, or care, or strife,
From all that clogs the wheels of life,
The crowd and throng that still await,
And aye pursue the high and great,
Far distant, on the rocks rude breast,
With pliant osiers bending round,
My form, at length, shall seek for rest,
Where rest is only to be found!
From all that clogs the wheels of life,
The crowd and throng that still await,
And aye pursue the high and great,
Far distant, on the rocks rude breast,
With pliant osiers bending round,
My form, at length, shall seek for rest,
Where rest is only to be found!
Here, shall no fools of fashion dare
Intrude with worldly pomp and care;
And least of all, shall loves excess,
Arise, to make my rapture less;
But all be calm, where all is peace,
Each hour but lending its increase,
And life's stream wasting on its breast,
The holy calm, I've sought for—rest!
Intrude with worldly pomp and care;
And least of all, shall loves excess,
Arise, to make my rapture less;
But all be calm, where all is peace,
Each hour but lending its increase,
And life's stream wasting on its breast,
The holy calm, I've sought for—rest!
With earth below, the skies above,
Untouch'd by pain, yet free to love;
And Time no longer felt—pursuing
Without a curse, his daily tour,
No cries of grief to mark the ruin,
That 'midst life's din is ever sure.
Untouch'd by pain, yet free to love;
And Time no longer felt—pursuing
Without a curse, his daily tour,
No cries of grief to mark the ruin,
That 'midst life's din is ever sure.
Here let me pause, life's hour to spend,
These rocks my shelter, home and friend!
These rocks my shelter, home and friend!
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