The Consolation of Philosophy · Boethius

Book II: Song IV: The Golden Mean

23 of 80 · 1 min of reading

Who founded firm and sure

Would ever live secure,

In spite of storm and blast

Immovable and fast;

Whoso would fain deride

The ocean's threatening tide;--

His dwelling should not seek

On sands or mountain-peak.

Upon the mountain's height

The storm-winds wreak their spite:

The shifting sands disdain

Their burden to sustain.

Do thou these perils flee,

Fair though the prospect be,

And fix thy resting-place

On some low rock's sure base.

Then, though the tempests roar,

Seas thunder on the shore,

Thou in thy stronghold blest

And undisturbed shalt rest;

Live all thy days serene,

And mock the heavens' spleen.

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End of part 23 of 80