SongIV

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Song

IV

The Golden Mean

Who founded firm and sure

Would ever live secure,

In spite of storm and blast

Immovable and fast;

Whoso would fain deride

The ocean’s threatening tide;⁠—

His dwelling should not seek

On sands or mountain-peak.

Upon the mountain’s height

The storm-winds wreak their spite:

The shifting sands disdain

Their burden to sustain.

Do thou these perils flee,

Fair though the prospect be,

And fix thy resting-place

On some low rock’s sure base.

Then, though the tempests roar,

Seas thunder on the shore,

Thou in thy stronghold blest

And undisturbed shalt rest;

Live all thy days serene,

And mock the heavens’ spleen.