The land to which the prophets all have gladly flit.
The heart is never lonesome in that vast abode;
Its green trees never wither, frosts no leaves corrode.
If now thou load thyself with sensual burden’s weight,
Fatigued and jaded, faint thou’lt prove beneath their freight.35
In sleep thou bearest no burden; borne thou art, instead.
Fatigue is thence recruited;—strength regains its head.
Know then, thy sleep’s a foretaste of what is to come,
From the rapt state of saints arriving at their home.
The saints were well prefigured by the “Sleepers Seven.”[345]