The Curse Of The Wandering Foot

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All hope of rest withdrawn me?--
  What dread command hath put
  This awful curse upon me--
  The curse of the wandering foot!
  Forward and backward and thither,
  And hither and yon again--
  Wandering ever!  And whither?
  Answer them, God!  Amen.

  The blue skies are far o'er me---
  The bleak fields near below:
  Where the mother that bore me?--
  Where her grave in the snow?--
  Glad in her trough of a coffin--
  The sad eyes frozen shut
  That wept so often, often,
  The curse of the wandering foot!

  Here in your marts I care not
  Whatsoever ye think.
  Good folk many who dare not
  Give me to eat and drink:
  Give me to sup of your pity--
  Feast me on prayers!--O ye,
  Met I your Christ in the city
  He would fare forth with me--

  Forward and onward and thither,
  And hither again and yon,
  With milk for our drink together
  And honey to feed upon--
  Nor hope of rest withdrawn us,
  Since the one Father put
  The blessed curse upon us--
  The curse of the wandering foot.

© James Whitcomb Riley