 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
85
THE BEST PHYSICIAN.
O blessèd Labour! true balm of hurt minds;Pain's panacéa, sorrow's cordial;
Elixir potent, yet most natural;
No necromantic spell thy secrets finds,
But Nature, of her boon-grace, for all kinds
Of ills, of mind and body, great and small;
Her blessed All-heal! Thee, too, Health doth call
Preserver; thy phylactery she binds
On her pure forehead. Even more than sleep
Balm and restorative; for without thee
Her poppies in oblivion may not steep
Our aching sense; but let her potion be
Presented by thy hand, Care then doth keep
No longer watch, her poor thralls are set free.
| Stones from The Quarry | |