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From Sunset Ridge

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52

THE LAMB WITHOUT THE FOLD

Whene'er I close the door at night,
And turn the creaking key about,
A pang renewed assails my heart—
I think, my darling is shut out.
Think that, beneath these starry skies,
He wanders, with his little feet;
The pines stand, hushed in glad surprise,
The garden yields its tribute sweet.
Thro' every well-known path and nook
I see his angel footsteps glide,
As guileless as the Pascal Lamb
That kept the infant Saviour's side.
His earnest eye, perhaps, can pierce
The gloom in which his parents sit;
He wonders what has changed the house,
And why the cloud hangs over it.
He passes with a pensive smile—
Why do they linger to grow old,
And what the burthen on their hearts?
On him shall sorrow have no hold.

53

Within the darkened porch I stand—
Scarce knowing why, I linger long;
Oh! could I call thee back to me,
Bright bird of heaven, with sooth or song!
But no—the wayworn wretch shall pause
To bless the shelter of this door;
Kinsman and guest shall enter in,
But my lost darling never more.
Yet, waiting on his gentle ghost,
From sorrow's void, so deep and dull,
Comes a faint breathing of delight,
A presence calm and beautiful.
I have him, not in outstretched arms,
I hold him, not with straining sight,
While in blue depths of quietude
Drops, like a star, my still “Good-night.”
Thus, nightly, do I bow my head
To the Unseen, Eternal force;
Asking sweet pardon of my child
For yielding him in Death's divorce.
He turned away from childish plays,
His baby toys he held in scorn;
He loved the forms of thought divine,
Woods, flowers, and fields of waving corn.

54

And then I knew, my little one
Should by no vulgar love be taught,
But by the symbols God has given
To solemnize our common thought;
The mystic angles, three in one,
The circling serpent's faultless round,
And, in far glory dim, the Cross,
Where Love o'erleaps the human bound.