Amid a weary wilderness,

 O'er which the tempest swept;

A waste and howling desert place,

 I laid me down and slept.

Methought I saw a wearied man,

 In visions of my sleep.

His heart  was sad, his face was wan;

 He seem'd to me to weep.

His countenance was outward turn'd,

 From home and friends away;

A secret fire within him burn'd,

 All night and through the day.

A burden on his back he bore,

 That none could understand;

A burden weighty, grevious, sore;

 A Book was in his hand.

That open Book revealed his wo,

 And sorrow to his home;

He knew not whither he must go,

 To flee the wrath to come.

He wore confusion in his face;

 Was clothed with rags of shame:

 DESTRUCTION was his dwelling-place,

 and GRACELESS was his name.

He wept, and murmered forth again,

 Alas!  "What shall I do?"

He glanced around the boundless plain,

 Ah! "Whither shall I go?"