So near to heaven the good man dwelt;

And as for danger—why, death, to him,

Meant only joining the Seraphim!

Poorly he lived, and hardly fared;

And when the acorns and roots he shared

With mole or squirrel, he asked no more,

But thanked the Lord for such welcome store.

The richest feast he could ever know

Was when the shepherds who dwelt below,

Whose sheep in the mountain pastures fed,

Would bring him cheeses, or barley bread,

Or—after harvest—a bag of meal;

And then they would all before him kneel,

On flowery turf or on moss-grown rocks,

To ask a blessing for them and their flocks,

And once or twice he had wandered out

To preach in the country round about,

Where unto many his words were blest;

Then back he climbed to his quiet nest.

By all in trouble his aid was sought;

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