It heard through childhood’s years.

Amidst fair tents, and flocks, and swains,

O’er his green pasture-sod,

A shepherd-king on Eastern plains—

The patriarch walk’d with God.

And calmly, brightly, that pure life

Melted from earth away;

No cloud it knew, no parting strife,

No sorrowful decay:

He bow’d him not, like all beside,