Speed John Smith upon his way.

Wish him as he passes where you go,

For the sake of One

Whose love he does not lack and does not know,

For God's sake, wish him well.

John Smith has taken journey to his grave,

But hopes to cross a country full of sun

Before his march is done.

Do you know a country of no harm

To tenderness, no hurt to healers?

Where the revealers

Rouse not anger nor alarm?

It is a country of clean air.

Speed him. Speed him there.

I heard my father say

That once he knew the way,

As I myself, John Smith, have seen the face

Of a man who found that place.

Deliver him from evil. Make him whole.

And here, and now, before John Smith is gone

Into the country of which I heard tell, Wish him well.

The place he seeks is further on.