Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/104

And pondering calm, those holy themes
That win the soul from earthly dreams,
Thinks of his flock, with shepherd's care,
And hears them on his voiceless prayer.
Here, in this rustic glebe, content,
The vigor of his prime he spent;
Here found the bride who cheered his breast,
And here his children's children blest.
And sooth to say, had wealth or power
Broke with their wiles his musing hour,
The richer meed, the wider fame,
The tinkling cymbal of a name,
Perchance had checked devotion's sway,
Or stolen its heaven-born zeal away.

An upright man he was, and kind,
A model for the virtuous mind;
No envious eye, nor gossip's tongue
A shadow o'er his name had flung;
Still to his board, though scantly drest,
He freely led the entering guest,
Nor bade, beside his lowly gate
The unrequited suppliant wait;
Though like the Levite, who of old
Nor lands might claim, nor hoarded gold,
He held, amid the soil he trod
No heritage, save Israel's God.

See, round the simple porch, a train
With greeting smile, his step detain,