Anonymous

The Hermit

For years, upon a mountain’s brow,
A hermit lived — the Lord knows how.
Hardships and penance were his lot;
He often prayed — the Lord knows what.
A robe of sackcloth he did wear,
And got his food — the Lord knows where.
At last this holy man did die;
He left this world — the Lord knows why.
He’s buried in this gloomy den,
And he will rise — the Lord knows when.