119. A Hermitage
From St. Gregory Nazianzen.
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SOME one whisper'd yesterday, |
| Of the rich and fashionable, |
| Gregory in his own small way |
| Easy was and comfortable. |
Had he not of wealth his fill |
| Whom a garden gay did bless, |
| And a gently trickling rill, |
| And the sweets of idleness? |
I made answer:—"Is it ease |
| Fasts to keep and tears to shed, |
| Vigil hours and wounded knees, |
| Call you these a pleasant bed?" |
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Thus a veritable monk |
| Does to death his fleshly frame; |
| Be there who in sloth are sunk, |
| They have forfeited the name. |
Oxford.
1834. |