His hat was off, his vest apart,
To catch heaven's blessed breeze—
For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:
So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read
The book between his knees!
Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er,
Nor ever glanc'd aside—
For the peace of his soul he read that book
In the golden eventide: