Stopping each time he passed that way to trace
God’s workmanship in river, tree and hill
The poet frequently renewed the thrill
Which toil and worry struggled to efface.
The horses which had pulled and stopped his chaise
Finally pulled his hearse; and they were still
As subject to their absent master’s will
When they arrived at that familiar place.
I have a Master who is absent, too -
In everything that I may say or do
Do those who know He is my Master find
That I am subject to my Master’s mind?
I can be thrilled with Him and can derive
From Him who, though now absent, is alive.
This refers to the poet and novelist sir Walter Scott: the view is here.
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