Meter 19

Oh! sore is the folly, consider it who will,
And full of peril for every person,
That wretched mortals utterly mazeth,
And far from the right road rapidly leadeth !
Have ye the will to seek in the woodland
Bright red gold among green trees?
Well do I know that no wise man
Will seek it there, since there it is not,
Nor look in vineyards for lustrous gems.
Why do ye not hang nets on the hill-tops
When ye would fain fishes capture,
Salmon and herrings ? It seemeth likely
That dwellers on earth, all of them, know,
Men of sense, that such live not there.
Will ye go hunting, with hounds follow,
In the salt sea, when ye would seek
Harts and hinds ? Hast thou not knowledge
That such as these thou must seek in forests
More oft by far than out in ocean?
Marvellous it is that all men know

That by the sea-shore search must be made,
And by river-beaches, for brightest jewels,
White and crimson, and of every colour,
Yea, they know also where it is needful
Fishes to seek, and many such things,
The wealth of the world. Well they do so,
Men all yearning, year’s end to year’s end,
But of all things this is most wretched,
That fools have become so utterly blind,
In midst of error, that in mind they cannot
Readily tell where blessings eternal,
Happiness true, are hidden away,
For they will not follow in their footsteps
Nor seek the blessings reft of sense,
In this frail life they think to find it,
True Happiness, God Himself,
I know no means whereby I may
Within my breast blame as severely
Such men’s folly, as fain I would do;
Nor can I tell thee, with full clearness ;
For they are feebler and more foolish,
More severed from blessing, than I can set forth.
Wealth and possessions, these they wish for,
And men’s worship they are eager to win,

When they have compassed what their mind craveth,
Then do they witless ween in their folly
That True Happiness they have at last.