Upon This Shore Lyrics
Once more I hunt the guileful fox, my ever present foe,
To unsuspecting lambs he is, so I may him depose.
“Sometimes the purest fawn, I sever from the doe,
And so the herd their young estrange.
Displacing unions and cleaving sacred bonds.
While I with baits and nets do display,
The birds to catch, or sheltered keeps beguile,
And though I weary am, I never down doth lay,
My limbs in every shade, and so shall toil away.
And drink of every brook,
And speak in every tongue,
When throat doth boil with thirst,
So shall my deeds be done…”
So then it is in each man’s self,
To fashion his estate,
Give leave awhile, upon this shore
His craft to rest, which hath been beaten late.
The storms of fortune and tempestuous fate,
Where seas of troubles and toilsome pain, now disappear,
Now shall resolve nor back to turn again,
For here may we within ourselves, some small repose obtain.
Based on excerpts of poetry from
Book VI by Edmund Spenser (1590 AD)