For the Cell of Honorius, at the Cork Convent, near Cintra

Here, cavern'd like a beast, Honorius pass'd,
In self-affliction, solitude, and prayer,
Long years of penance. He had rooted out
All human feelings from his heart, and fled
With fear and loathing from all human joys.
Not thus in making known his will divine
Hath Christ enjoin'd. To aid the fatherless,
Comfort the sick, and be the poor man's friend,
And in the wounded heart pour gospel-balm, —
These are the injunctions of his holy law.
Which whoso keeps shall have a joy on earth,
Calm, constant, still increasing, preluding
The eternal bliss of Heaven. Yet mock not thou,
Stranger, the Anchorite's mistaken zeal !
He painfully his painful duties kept,
Sincere, though erring. Stranger, do thou keep
Thy better and thine easier rule as well.