A voice said ‘Follow, follow’ : and I rose
And followed far into the dreamy night,
Turning my back upon the pleasant light.
It led me where the bluest water flows,
And would not let me drink : where the corn grows
I dared not pause, but went uncheered by sight
Or touch : until at length in evil plight
It left me, wearied out with many woes.
Some time I sat as one bereft of sense :
But soon another voice from very far
Called, ‘Follow, follow’ : and I rose again.
Now on my night has dawned a blessed star :
Kind and steady hands my sinking steps sustain,
And will not leave me till I shall go hence.
12 April 1849