Where shall I, of wandering weary,
Find my resting-place at last?
Under drooping southern palm-trees?
Under limes the Rhine sweeps past?
Will it be in deserts lonely,
Dug by unfamiliar hands?
Shall I slumber where the ocean
Crawls along the yellow sands?
It matters not! Around me ever
There as here God's heaven lies,
And by night, as death-lamps o'er me,
Lo, His stars sweep through the skies!
