To a Friend

Sweet, hard and wise, your choice so early made.
To cast the world away, a derelict:
To wear within the pure and austere shade
The sacred sable of Saint Benedict.

I give you praise: give me your better prayers.
The nothingness, which you have flung away.
To me seems full of fond delightful cares.
Visions, and dangers of the crowded day.

Give me your prayers: you keep no other wealth,
And therefore are the wealthiest of my friends.
So shall you lure me by an holy stealth
At last into the Land where wandering ends.