In That New World Which Is The Old Poem by George A. Mackenzie

Once, like the Arab with his shifting tent
To some new shade of palms each day addrest,
My soul, a homeless wanderer, unblest,
Roamed all the realm of change, in purpose bent
To find a happier world, with banishment
Of that dull pain which drove away its rest.
Through fruitless years my soul pursued its quest,
Until with longing I was well-nigh spent.

And then I found God's Presence; and the ray
Of that mysterious dayspring, clear and sweet,
Touched all the common things of every day,
And there in house, and field, and in the street
From childhood trodden by my heedless feet,
The long-sought world in dewy freshness lay.