My Summer-House Poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth

Here rest my friend,—thy wanderings stay,
And take a seat, while yet ye may,
Within this hallowed spot;
Here taste the sweets of rural joys,
And leave the city's golden toys—
The worldly groveller's lot.
Here Nature breathes—cold Art is there,
The scarlet robe and sumptuous fare,
No lily of the vale;—
There Envy rears her crest on high,
And Pity e'en forgets the sigh
She gives to Misery's tale.
When cares intrude here may I rest,
In solitude supremely blest,
Adoring Nature's God;
The birds in harmony will join
Their hymns of praise, surpassing mine,
Obedient to His nod.
The rising sunbeams here will play,
And lingering, still prolong the day
With golden streams of light;
While lovely in the west a star
Peeps o'er the world, and from afar
Proclaims 'tis Nature's night.
And night shall not regret the day;
Her zone of stars—the Milky Way—
As bright as Sol shall shine.
Calm contemplation, lend thine aid,
Religion's offspring—gentle maid!
Thy solace still be mine.
Here will I bid the world adieu;
While holding converse sweet with you,
No fond regrets I'll bring.
For me no boasted charms remain,
Life is at best but toil and pain,
A waste where weeds will spring.
Then enter, friend, this calm retreat,
And find with me a vacant seat,
A rest from worldly care;
If griefs intrude, here may you find
A solace for your wounded mind—
Hope's blossoms passing fair.