HIS PILGRIMAGE
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of faith, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage:
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body’s balmer;
No other balm will there be given:
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
There will I kiss
The bowl of bliss;
And drink my everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before;
But, after, it will thirst no more.
Sir Walter Raleigh. 1552-1618
That’s all for today.