All hope of rest withdrawn me? -- What dread command hath put This awful curse upon me -- The curse of the wandering foot!
Forward and backward and thither, And hither and yon again -- Wandering ever! And whither?
Answer them, God! Amen.
The blue skies are far o'er me -- - The bleak fields near below: Where the mother that bore me? -- Where her grave in the snow? -- Glad in her trough of a coffin -- The sad eyes frozen shut That wept so often, often, The curse of the wandering foot!
Here in your marts I care not Whatsoever ye think.
Good folk many who dare not Give me to eat and drink: Give me to sup of your pity -- Feast me on prayers! -- O ye, Met I your Christ in the city He would fare forth with me --
Forward and onward and thither, And hither again and yon, With milk for our drink together And honey to feed upon -- Nor hope of rest withdrawn us, Since the one Father put The blessed curse upon us -- The curse of the wandering foot.
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