Oh! hear a pensive prisoner's prayer, 
For liberty that sighs, 
And never let thine heart be shut 
Against the wretch's cries.

For here forlorn and sad I sit, 
Within the wiry grate; 
And tremble at th' approaching morn, 
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd, 
And spurn'd a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force 
A free-born mouse detain.

Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood 
Thy hospitable hearth; 
Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd 
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast 
My frugal meals supply; 
But if thine unrelenting heart 
That slender boon deny,

The cheerful light, the vital air, 
Are blessings widely given; 
Let nature's commoners enjoy 
The common gifts of heaven.

The well-taught philosophic mind 
To all compassion gives; 
Casts round the world an equal eye, 
And feels for all that lives.

If mind, as ancient sages taught, 
A never dying flame,
Still shifts thro' matter's varying forms,
In every form the same,

Beware, lest in the worm you crush 
A brother's soul you find; 
And tremble lest thy luckless hand 
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or, if this transient gleam of day 
Be all of life we share, 
Let pity plead within thy breast 
That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board 
With health and peace be crown'd; 
And every charm of heartfelt ease 
Beneath thy roof be found.

So, when destruction lurks unseen, 
Which men, like mice, may share, 
May some kind angel clear thy path, 
And break the hidden snare.

Because the earth is vast and dark
And wet and cold;
Because man's heart wants warmth and light
Lest it grow old;

Therefore the house was built — wall, roof
And brick and beam,
By a lost hand following the lost
Delight of a dream.

And room and stair show how that hand
Groped in eager doubt,
With needless weight of teasing timber
Matching his thought —

Such fond superfluousness of strength
In wall and wood
As his half-wise, half-fearful eye
Deemed only good.

His brain he built into the house,
Laboured his bones;
He burnt his heart into the brick
And red hearth-stones.

It is his blood that makes the house
Still warm, safe, bright,
Honest as aim and eye and hand,
As clean, as light.

Because the earth is vast and dark
The house was built —
Now with another heart and fire
To be fulfilled.