James Whitcomb Riley - The Curse Of The Wandering Foot lyrics

All hope of rest withdrawn me?-- What dread command hath put This awful curse upon me-- The curse of the wandering foot!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and thither, And hither again and yon, With milk for our drink together And honey to feed upon-- Nor hope of rest withdrawn us, Since the one Father put The blessed curse upon us-- The curse of the wandering foot.