Lines on a Fountain

2 0 00

Lines on a Fountain

We love cold water as it flows from the fountain,

Which nature hath brewed alone in the mountain;

In the wild woods and in the rocky dell,

Where man hath not been but the deer loves to dwell;

And away across the sea in far distant lands,

In Asia’s gloomy jungles and Africa’s drifting sands;

Where to the thirsty traveller a charming spot of green

Is by far the rarest gem his eyes have ever seen;

And when he has quenched his thirst at the cooling spring,

With many grateful songs he makes the air to ring;

For many nights he dreams of this scene of bliss,

And when he thinks of Heaven it is of such as this.