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Pilgrim:
LITTLE Herdboy, sitting there, | |
| With the sunshine on thy hair, | |
| And thy flocks so white and still | |
| Spilt around thee on the hill, | |
| Tell me true, in thy sweet speech, | 5 |
| Of the City I would reach. | |
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| ’Tis a City of God’s Light | |
| Most imperishably bright, | |
| And its gates are golden all,— | |
| And at dawn and evenfall | 10 |
| They grow ruby-bright and blest | |
| To the east and to the west. | |
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| Here, among the hills it lies, | |
| Like a lamb with lustrous eyes | |
| Lying at the Shepherd’s feet; | 15 |
| And the breath of it is sweet, | |
| As it rises from the sward | |
| To the nostrils of the Lord! | |
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| Little Herdboy, tell me right, | |
| Hast thou seen it from thy height? | 20 |
| For it lieth up this way, | |
| And at dawn or death of day | |
| Thou hast surely seen it shine | |
| With the light that is divine? | |
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The little Herdboy:
Where the buttercups so sweet | 25 |
| Dust with gold my naked feet, | |
| Where the grass grows green and long, | |
| Sit I here and sing my song, | |
| And the brown bird cries ‘Cuckoo’ | |
| Under skies for ever blue! | 30 |
| |
| Now and then, while I sing loud, | |
| Flits a little fleecy cloud, | |
| And uplooking I behold | |
| How it turns to rain of gold, | |
| Falling lightly, while around | 35 |
| Comes the stir of its soft sound! | |
| |
| Bright above and dim below | |
| Is the many-colour’d Bow; | |
| ’Tis the only light I mark, | |
| Till the mountain-tops grow dark, | 40 |
| And uplooking I espy | |
| Shining glowworms in the sky; | |
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| Then I hear the runlet’s call, | |
| And the voice o’ the waterfall | |
| Growing louder, and ’tis cold | 45 |
| As I guide my flocks to fold; | |
| But no City, great or small, | |
| Have I ever seen at all! | |
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