The Wandering Jew.

    The stars are failing, and the sky
        Is like a field of faded flowers;
    The winds on weary wings go by;
        The moon hides, and the temptest lowers;
            And still through every clime and age
            I wander on a pilgrimage
            That all men know an idle quest,
            For that the goal I seek is - REST!

    I hear the voice of summer streams,
        And, following, I find the brink
    Of cooling springs, with childish dreams
        Returning as I bend to drink -
            But suddenly, with startled eyes,
            My face looks on its grim disguise
            Of long gray beard; and so, distressed,
            I hasten on, nor taste of rest.

    I come upon a merry group
        Of children in the dusky wood,
    Who answer back the owlet's whoop,
        That laughs as it had understood;
            And I would pause a little space,
            But that each happy blossom-face
            Is like to one His hands have blessed
            Who sent me forth in search of rest.

    Sometimes I fain would stay my feet
        In shady lanes, where huddled kine
    Couch in the grasses cool and sweet,
        And lift their patient eyes to mine;
            But I, for thoughts that ever then
            Go back to Bethlehem again,
            Must needs fare on my weary quest,
            And weep for very need of rest.

    Is there no end?    I plead in vain:
        Lost worlds nor living answer me.
    Since Pontius Pilate's awful reign
        Have I not passed eternity?
            Have I not drank the fetid breath
            Of every fevered phase of death,
            And come unscathed through every pest
            And scourge and plague that promised rest?

    Have I not seen the stars go out
        That shed their light o'er Galilee,
    And mighty kingdoms tossed about
        And crumbled clod-like in the sea?
            Dead ashes of dead ages blow
            And cover me like drifting snow,
            And time laughs on as 'twere a jest
            That I have any need of rest.