He said, ‘Pray not thus: since not ev’n my few
Dare to behold me, strange ’twere not, nor new,
That a poor wand’rer’s wilder’d heart should burn’.
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Where is the pious doer? & I the estray’d one, where?
Behold how far the distance, from his safe home to here!
Dark is the stony desert, trackless & vast & dim,
Where is hope’s guiding lantern? Where is faith’s star so fair?
My heart fled from the cloister, & chant of monkish hymn,
What can avail me sainthood, fasting & punctual prayer?