John Greenleaf Whittier

The Well of Loch Maree

CALM on the breast of Loch Maree
  A little isle reposes;
A shadow woven of the oak
  And willow o’er it closes.

Within, a Druid’s mound is seen,
  Set round with stony warders;
A fountain, gushing through the turf,
  Flows o’er its grassy borders.

And whoso bathes therein his brow,
  With care or madness burning,	
Feels once again his healthful thought
  And sense of peace returning.

O restless heart and fevered brain,
  Unquiet and unstable,
That holy well of Loch Maree
  Is more than idle fable!

Life’s changes vex, its discords stun,
  Its glaring sunshine blindeth,
And blest is he who on his way
  That fount of healing findeth!

The shadows of a humbled will
  And contrite heart are o’er it;
Go read its legend,—“TRUST IN GOD”—
  On Faith’s white stones before it.