THY life is like a fountain clear, upspringing
Beside the weary way I'm treading now;
I love to linger near, and feel it flinging
Its pure baptism on my fevered brow.

Thy gentle heart is like the couch of resting,
That welcomes home the wanderer of the deep,
To my tired spirit, weary with long breasting
The midnight waves that round about me sweep.

Thy soul is like a silver lake at even,
Emblem of power, and purity, and rest, —
Within its depths the eternal stars of heaven,
While earth's fair lilies float upon its breast.