The Clod and The Pebble

 Love seeketh not Itself to please.

Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease.

And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.


 So sung a little Clod of Clay,
 Trodden with the cattle's feet;
 But a Pebble of the brook.

 Warbled out these metres meet.


Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in anothers loss of ease.

And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

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