THE HERMIT'S SONG
I wish, O Son of the living God, O ancient, eternal
King,
For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it
may be my dwelling.
An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side,
A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace
of the Holy Spirit.
Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every
side,
To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its
shelter.
A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across
its floor,
A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be
good for every plant.
A few men of sense—we will tell their number—
Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:—
Four times three, three times four, fit for every need,
Twice six in the church, both north and south:—
Six pairs besides myself,
Praying for ever the King who makes the sun
shine.
A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth,
a dwelling for God from Heaven;
Then, shining candles above the pure white
Scriptures.
One house for all to go to for the care of the body,
Without ribaldry, without boasting, without
thought of evil.
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