Fold up the tent!
The sun is in the West.
Tomorrow my untainted soul will range
Among the blest.

And I am well content,
For what is sent, is sent,
And God knows best.
Fold up the tent,
And speed the parting guest!

The night draws on, though night and day are one
On this long quest.
This house was only lent
For my apprenticement—
What is, is best.

Fold up the tent!
Its tenant would be gone,
To fairer skies than mortal eyes
May look upon.

All that I loved has passed,
And left me at the last
Alone!—alone!
Fold up the tent!

Above the mountain’s crest,
I hear a clear voice calling, calling clear,—
“To rest! To rest!”
And I am glad to go,
For the sweet oil is low,
And rest is best!

John Oxenham

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