 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
“He stays at Home”
“He stays at home!” the sheltering buttress under;No wish for change disturbs his grassy bed,
Where petals of the rose are softly shed,
And wild bees murmuring cull ambrosial plunder.
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As by some shining lake his feet are led,
Or agile climb some mountain's cloud-capt head;
Nor for his ears will falling waters thunder.
While we are wanderers, “he stays at home!”
He cannot share the joy of merry brothers,
Or happy sisters, as afar they roam;
He sees not, hears not, feels not like the others:
But who can tell what glories meet his eyes
Where his soul rests at home in Paradise?
| Lyra Pastoralis | |