A Hermitage

Some one whisper’d yesterday,
  Of the rich and fashionable,
Gregory in his own small way
  Easy was and comfortable.

Had he not of wealth his fill
  Whom a garden gay did bless,
And a gently trickling rill,
  And the sweets of idleness?

I made answer:⁠—“Is it ease
  Fasts to keep and tears to shed,
Vigil hours and wounded knees,
  Call you these a pleasant bed?”

Thus a veritable monk
  Does to death his fleshly frame;
Be there who in sloth are sunk,
  They have forfeited the name.