the diamond of the desert.
111
But now, to cheer his anxious eye,
Appears one little spot of green,
Sole vestige of fertility,
Amid that desolated scene.
And oh! how grateful none can know,
Is the cool fountain's silver flow,
Which brightly beams to cheer and bless,
In that wild waste of barrenness.
Appears one little spot of green,
Sole vestige of fertility,
Amid that desolated scene.
And oh! how grateful none can know,
Is the cool fountain's silver flow,
Which brightly beams to cheer and bless,
In that wild waste of barrenness.
To rest beside the bubbling fount,
Quaffing its waters as they glide,
And dangers of the way recount
To fellow pilgrims by his side;
How shall the wanderer leave its brink?
He stoops again,—again,—to drink,
And bears through all his desert way,
The memory of that fountain's play.
Quaffing its waters as they glide,
And dangers of the way recount
To fellow pilgrims by his side;
How shall the wanderer leave its brink?
He stoops again,—again,—to drink,
And bears through all his desert way,
The memory of that fountain's play.
So, 'mid the arid wastes of life,
Where panting pilgrims onward roam,
Wearied with earth, its toil, its strife,
Sighing to find some surer home;—
Where panting pilgrims onward roam,
Wearied with earth, its toil, its strife,
Sighing to find some surer home;—
