SIR WALTER RALEIGH
��86 His Pilgrimage
1 IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given;
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelled! towards the land of heaven ;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains; There will I kiss The bowl of bliss, And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every mil ken hill. My soul will be a-dry before; But, after, it will thirst no more.
��E V
��<?7 The Conclusion
VVEN such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we Im e, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wander'd all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.
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