These sweet ethereal fields breathe balm, and myrrh, and spice.
I’d wander all about; no need of feet or wings.
All sweets I’d feast on; lips and teeth were useless things.
My mind at rest, from all care free, I’d ever roam.
The angels I’d not envy in their heavenly home.195
With bandaged eyes I’d survey realms without an end;
All sorts of flowers I’d gather, yet not soil my hand.
Like duck in pond, down deep I’d plunge in honey lake.[276]
In Job’s own fount I’d bathe, in wine I’d revel make.
For Job with wine from heaven was cleansed in every pore;