A Child of God Longing to See Him Beloved

There's not an Eccho round me,
But I am glad should learn
How pure a fire has found me,
The Love with which I burn.
For none attends with pleasure
To what I would reveal;
They slight me out of measure,
And laugh at all I feel.

The rocks receive less proudly
The story of my flame;
When I approach, they loudly
Reverberate my name.
I speak to them of sadness,
And comforts at a stand;
They bid me look for gladness,
And better days at hand.

Far from all habitation,
I heard a happy sound;
Big with the consolation
That I have often found;
I said, "my lot is sorrow,
My grief has no alloy;"
The rocks replied--"to-morrow,
To-morrow brings thee joy."

These sweet and secret tidings,
What bliss it is to hear!
For, spite of all my chidings,
My weakness and my fear,
No sooner I receive them,
Than I forget my pain,
And happy to believe them,
I love as much again.

I fly to scenes romantic,
Where never men resort;
For in an age so frantic,
Impiety is sport;
For riot and confusion,
They barter things above;
Condemning, as delusion,
The joy of perfect Love.

In this sequester'd corner
None hears what I express;
Deliver'd from the scorner,
What peace do I possess!
Beneath the boughs reclining,
Or roving o'er the wild,
I live, as undesigning,
And harmless as a child.

No troubles here surprise me,
I innocently play,
While providence supplies me,
And guards me all the day:
My dear and kind defender
Preserves me safely here,
From men of pomp and splendour,
Who fill a child with fear.