 | The Comrades |  |
11
The Choir Boy
Let him slumber; do not blame!
In the heat his eyelids fell,
And the preacher's voice became
Water babbling down a dell.
In the heat his eyelids fell,
And the preacher's voice became
Water babbling down a dell.
Shall I chide those eyelids closed?
Shake and wake him? Not at all.
Once an early Christian dozed,
Listening even to St. Paul.
Shake and wake him? Not at all.
Once an early Christian dozed,
Listening even to St. Paul.
Let him slumber; he has sung;
And his treble, shrill and sweet,
Soars ev'n now perhaps among
Angels round the Mercy Seat.
And his treble, shrill and sweet,
12
Angels round the Mercy Seat.
If the swallow hath a nest
On Thine altars, Lord my King,
Surely here Thy child may rest,
When his song hath taken wing.
On Thine altars, Lord my King,
Surely here Thy child may rest,
When his song hath taken wing.
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