When All Is Well

How happy the soul! whose heart’s desire

Stays content; he makes his rounds,

Who needs no wealth nor praise of choir,

Yet joy abounds.

Whose fields bear fruit, whose hands know toil,

With warmth of hearth and harvest near,

Whose roof and walls from storms recoil,

While skies stay clear.

Glad to mark each season’s pass,

With dusk to paint and stars to chart,

In fields, content to watch his glass

Slow drift apart.

Free to wander, free to dwell,

And let the world spin here on by!

Content, at ease, for all is well,

That day he dies.