And hide it deep within my thoughts;
I steal the rapture of thy thrill
And drown it deep within my blood;
And from these thefts, these sacred stealings
Are born the bright flames of my love,
And the fountain of all sweet feelings,
And the stream of my life’s joy.
But even if he can for a time forget the toil and trouble of the world in a personal joy, his first love is with the workers and with them he asks to have his Resting Place—
Seek me not ’mid blooming meadows,
Not there my spirit you can trace,