 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
CXXXIV. THE STRICKEN DEER.
'Tis said, that if a stag with bleeding woundReturn to where his first companions feed,
They have no pity for him in his need;
But turn, with cruel horns, and gore him round.
So with the darkened spirit, I have found,
Whom weight of care should to his fellows lead:
They cry: ‘This man has lost all grace indeed,
Or never had it’;—closed in self and bound:
Nor see that God's vast love and wisdom meet
Beyond the limits of their narrow way:
That purest gold is fined by fiercest heat:
And cloudy mornings oft make clearest day:
With hardest strokes the firmest steel is beat:
And strongest vessel formed of well-trod clay.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |