SongI

3 0 00

Song

I

The Thorns of Error

Who fain would sow the fallow field,

And see the growing corn,

Must first remove the useless weeds,

The bramble and the thorn.

After ill savour, honey’s taste

Is to the mouth more sweet;

After the storm, the twinkling stars

The eyes more cheerly greet.

When night hath past, the bright dawn comes

In car of rosy hue;

So drive the false bliss from thy mind,

And thou shall see the true.