A tether to it’s bound; it’s not quite free withal.
It must come back by day from roaming where it wills,
The cares of life to bear;—a burthen that soon kills.
O! Would, O God, Thou’d keep my soul in Thy own hand,
As Sleepers in the Grotto;[91] Noah’s ark once to land!
Then had I ’scaped the tempest waking thoughts aye raise;
My mind, eyes, ears, had rested; all my task Thy praise!85
Sev’n Sleepers?—Many are there of them in this world,
Before, behind me, right and left; they’re round me hurl’d!
My “Cave”[92] art Thou; my “Mate” art Thou; O God, my friend!