The Woodman's Dream.
ON the bank of a flowing river,
Far up 'mid the mountains green,
A woodman sighed for the prairies wide,
And the cities he ne'er had seen.
Said the woodman, "I'm weary of mountains___
I am sick of the river's flow;
But lo, I have been so long shut in,
That I know not where to go."
On the banks of that murmuring river
He dreamed a wonderful dream;
And an angel came, in an aureate flame,
And stood by the flowing stream.
And the woodman said, "Oh, angel,
I am old and the tide runs low,
But I want to go forth to the great, wide earth,
Oh, show me the way to go.
"I want to behold the cities
And the glories of other lands;"
But the angel was gone, and he woke at dawn
In a city not made with hands.
__Albert Bigelow Paine.