Sweet is thy rest.
How, bathed in heavenly healthiness,
Restful he breathes!
Thou, born above the relics
Of a most sacred past,
Upon thee may its spirit rest.
He whom it environeth
Will in the consciousness of power divine
Each day enjoy.
Seedling so rich expand,
The shining spring’s
Resplendent ornament,
In presence of thy fellows shine,
And when the flower-sheathe fades and falls
May from thy bosom rise
The abounding fruit,
And ripening, front the sun.
Woman
God bless him—and ever still he sleeps.
Nought have I with this water clear
Except a piece of bread to offer thee.
Wanderer
I give thee thanks.
How gloriously all blooms around
And groweth green!
Woman
My husband soon
Home from the fields
Returns. Stay, stay, O man,
And eat with us thy evening bread.
Wanderer
Here do ye dwell?