And walk serene in places where
An ancient wrath is denizen;
The pilgrim's feet may know no ease,
And yet his heart's delight increase,
For all ways that are trod in peace
Lead upward to God's benison.
No less I doubt our age's need
Is some of Izaak Walton's creed.—
Your pardon, gentlemen! I breed
Impatience with a homily.—