I strolled last eve across the lonely down,
One solitary picture struck my eye.
A distant plowboy stood against the sky--
How far he seemed, above the noisy town!
Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod
Laid its bruised cheek, as he moved slowly by,
And, watching him, I asked myself if I
In very truth stood half as near to God.
Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler
Chicago : Belford, Clarke & Co, 1883.
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