 | Poems |  |
MY HOUSE.
I am looking up and down,
Up and down, through the town,
For a little house to dwell in,
A shelter and a nest:
But though the buds are swelling,
And the springs from earth are welling,
I cannot find a place for my rest.
Up and down, through the town,
For a little house to dwell in,
A shelter and a nest:
But though the buds are swelling,
And the springs from earth are welling,
I cannot find a place for my rest.
30
There are no walls to hold us,
Not a home to enfold us.
Not a hearth for a fire,
Not a chamber for our sleep;
In vain my quest I keep,
None answer my desire,
Up and down,
Through the town.
Not a home to enfold us.
Not a hearth for a fire,
Not a chamber for our sleep;
In vain my quest I keep,
None answer my desire,
Up and down,
Through the town.
Then suddenly I hear
A whisper in my ear—
“Turn aside from thy seeking,
Listen to my speaking:
There is a house for thee!
There are trees to shade the summer,
There is room for every comer,
And broad the gateways be
To this home that waits for thee.
A whisper in my ear—
“Turn aside from thy seeking,
Listen to my speaking:
There is a house for thee!
There are trees to shade the summer,
There is room for every comer,
And broad the gateways be
To this home that waits for thee.
“Up and down,
Through the town,
Thou needest not to wander;
Thy house is ready yonder.
The roof is smooth and green,
And the chamber is so still
Thou canst slumber there thy fill.
And thy house shall no man borrow
To-day nor to-morrow,
Nor vexed with joy or sorrow,
Is that dwelling-place serene.
Through the town,
Thou needest not to wander;
Thy house is ready yonder.
The roof is smooth and green,
And the chamber is so still
Thou canst slumber there thy fill.
And thy house shall no man borrow
To-day nor to-morrow,
Nor vexed with joy or sorrow,
Is that dwelling-place serene.
31
“There is no price to pay,
No need to move away,
No evil eye can harm thee,
Nor man, nor beast alarm thee;
Thy flowers grow very fair
In the summer-scented air,
And the snows lie still and soft,
Up aloft.
No need to move away,
No evil eye can harm thee,
Nor man, nor beast alarm thee;
Thy flowers grow very fair
In the summer-scented air,
And the snows lie still and soft,
Up aloft.
“Thy house is ready here,
Ready this many a year:
Seek no more,
For the door
Is opening to thy feet,
And the wide and silent street
Is ready for thy tread
In the city of the dead.
Seek no longer! here is rest for heart and head,
Come in here.”
Ready this many a year:
Seek no more,
For the door
Is opening to thy feet,
And the wide and silent street
Is ready for thy tread
In the city of the dead.
Seek no longer! here is rest for heart and head,
Come in here.”
| Poems | |