Page:The Carcanet.djvu/86

This rock, my shield when storms are blowing;
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing,
Supplying drink; the earth bestowing
My simple food;
But few enjoy the calm I know in
This desert rude; 

Content and comfort bless me more in
This grot, than e'er I felt before in
A palace; and, with thoughts still soaring
To God on high, 
Each night and morn with voice imploring,
This wish I sigh: 

Let me, O, Lord ! from life retire,
Unknown each guilty worldly fire,
Remorseful throb, or loose desire;
And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire,
To God I fly. 

Stranger! if, full of youth and riot,
As yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at
The Hermit's prayer : 
But if thou hast a cause to sigh at
Thy fault, or care; 

If thou hast known false love's vexation,
Or hast been exiled from thy nation,
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation,