THE PROPHET'S END

[ZaunköniG]

THE PROPHET'S END

BETTER to hide the weary face awhile;
Better to let them have it as they will ;
They would but mock thee, scourge thee, harry still
Thy tired soul ; go, cease thee from thy toil.

Flee from these dim vain ways where millions moil,
And wrangle for a bauble; let them fill
Each other's restless lives with strenuous ill —
Thou shalt be free at last from strife and guile.

Go to thy mother, child, and take thy sleep ;
Go, lay thee, silent, in her cool wide arms ;
Secure from troublous time, in her large keep

Thou shalt lie peaceful 'mid the world's alarms ;
Go, get thee to thy mother-earth, and creep
Into her bosom, where no evil harms.