Poetry: The Search After Rest

When first the dove, afar and wide, Skimmed the dark waters o'er, To seek, beyond the heaving tide, A green and pcuceful sliore, No Icaly bough. nor lifelike thing, Rose, 'inid the swelling main - The lone hird soi'ght. wiili faltering wing, The hallowcd Alk again. An;l even thusMan's lieart hnih traced A lone and wenry round: I5ut nevor yet, amid Earih's waste A resting place hath lound. The pcace for whicli his spirit yearns, Is ever sought in vain, Till, like the dove n homeward turns, And finds its God again.