The Little Villager's Verse Book — The Swan

Look at that Swan! how still he goes!
His neck and breast, like silver, gleam,
He seems, majestic as he rows,
The glory of the lonely stream.

There is a glory in the war,
A glory, when the warrior wears—
(His visage mark'd with many a scar)
The laurel, wet with human tears.

Those scenes, no glory can impart,
With tramps, and drums, and noises rude,
Like that which fills his silent heart,
Who walks with God in quietude.