XI.
I scorn the heavenly plains above me,
In the blest land of Paradise;
No fairer women there will love me
Than those whom here on earth I prize.
No angel blest, his high flight winging,
Could there replace my darling wife;
To sit on clouds, whilst psalms I’m singing,
Would small enjoyment give to life.
O Lord, methinks ’twere best to leave me
Upon this lower world to dwell;
But first from sufferings reprieve me,
Some money granting me as well.
The world, I know, is overflowing
With sin and misery; yet I
Have learnt full well the art of going
Along its pavement quietly.
Life’s bustle cannot now annoy me,
For ’tis but seldom that I roam;
Beside my wife I’d fain employ me
In slippers and loose-coat at home.
Leave me with her! When she is prattling,
My soul drinks in the music dear
Of that sweet voice, so gaily rattling,—
Her look so faithful is and clear!
For health alone and means of living,
Lord, ask I! Let me stay below
For many a day its blessings giving,
Beside my wife in statu quo!