Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip
Of this old mendicant, and from her door,
Returning with exhilarated heart,
Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven.”
And the poet, the lover of nature, the child of the mountain, ends by a warning and a prayer:
“Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness
Gives the last human interest to his heart.
May never House, misnamed b‘of Industry,’
Make him a captive! For that pent-up din,
Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air,