Men there be who lose their days
Toiling after empty praise,
All they do they count as vain
Should the world their work disdain;
If I hear but praise from thee,
That is praise enough for me.
Shall I flatter high or low
Fearful lest I make a foe?
Shall I sorrow without end
For the falseness of a friend?--
If I win but love from thee,
That is love enough for me.
Other worlds afar may rise
Somewhere under other skies,
Other worlds and fairer still--
Sail and seek them they that will!
Wheresoe’er I walk with thee
There is world enough for me.
Wiser men than I may say
Heaven is high and far away,
Or may prove with reasonings rare
Heaven is neither here nor there;
Here where thou art, I with thee,
This is heaven enough for me.