Like One Who Walketh In A Plenteous Land, By Flowing Waters, Under Shady Trees, Through Sunny Meadows, Where The Summer Bees Feed In The Thyme And Clover; On Each Hand Fair Gardens Lying, Where Of Fruit And Flower The Bounteous Season Hath Poured Out Its Dower: Where Saffron Skies Roof In The Earth With Light, And Birds Sing Thankfully Towards Heaven, While He With A Sad Heart Walks Through This Jubilee, Beholding How Beyond This Happy Land, Stretches A Thirsty Desert Of Gray Sand, Where All The Air Is One Thick, Leaden Blight, Where All Things Dwarf And Dwindle, - So Walk I, Through My Rich, Present Life, To What Beyond Doth Lie.