| The Fourth Shepherd |
| (For Thomas Walsh) |
| |
| I |
On nights like this the huddled sheep
Are like white clouds upon the grass,
And merry herdsmen guard their sleep
And chat and watch the big stars pass.
|
| |
It is a pleasant thing to lie
Upon the meadow on the hill
With kindly fellowship near by
Of sheep and men of gentle will.
|
| |
I lean upon my broken crook
And dream of sheep and grass and men—
O shameful eyes that cannot look
On any honest thing again!
|
| |
On bloody feet I clambered down
And fled the wages of my sin,
I am the leavings of the town,
And meanly serve its meanest inn.
|
| |
I tramp the courtyard stones in grief,
While sleep takes man and beast to her.
And every cloud is calling “Thief!”
And every star calls “Murderer!”
|
| |
| II |
The hand of God is sure and strong,
Nor shall a man forever flee
The bitter punishment of wrong.
The wrath of God is over me!
|
| |
With ashen bread and wine of tears
Shall I be solaced in my pain.
I wear through black and endless years
Upon my brow the mark of Cain.
|
| |
| III |
Poor vagabond, so old and mild,
Will they not keep him for a night?
And She, a woman great with child,
So frail and pitiful and white.
|
| |
Good people, since the tavern door
Is shut to you, come here instead.
See, I have cleansed my stable floor
And piled fresh hay to make a bed.
|
| |
Here is some milk and oaten cake.
Lie down and sleep and rest you fair,
Nor fear, O simple folk, to take
The bounty of a child of care.
|
| |
| IV |
On nights like this the huddled sheep—
I never saw a night so fair.
How huge the sky is, and how deep!
And how the planets flash and glare!
|
| |
At dawn beside my drowsy flock
What wingéd music I have heard!
But now the clouds with singing rock
As if the sky were turning bird.
|
| |
O blinding Light, O blinding Light!
Burn through my heart with sweetest pain.
O flaming Song, most loudly bright,
Consume away my deadly stain!
|
| |
| V |
The stable glows against the sky,
And who are these that throng the way?
My three old comrades hasten by
And shining angels kneel and pray.
|
| |
The door swings wide—I cannot go—
I must and yet I dare not see.
Lord, who am I that I should know—
Lord, God, be merciful to me!
|
| |
| VI |
O Whiteness, whiter than the fleece
Of new-washed sheep on April sod!
O Breath of Life, O Prince of Peace,
O Lamb of God, O Lamb of God!
|