University of Virginia Library

The Wounded Pigeon

And thou wast out on yesternight
When the wind blew so high a gale,
And snow and darkness gathered might
Joined with its loud and angry wail!
When rose the storm to smite each roof,
And the tree's lofty pride lay low;
And, swift as shuttles through the woof,
To drive the tall ships to and fro;
Thee too, a wanderer from some cot,
Driven up and downward in its whirl,
Amid the mightier things it wrought,
Against our porch it came to hurl.
Poor dove! the door man enters oft
Opened not to thee in thy distress,
Thou heardst no welcome voices soft
Thou sawest no hands outstretched to bless.
Not so, she who from the waters back
Returning sought the wandering ark,
When yet her foot had left no track,
Was welcomed to the tossing bark.
But here thy wounds unheeded flowed,
Nor heard thy moans, nor tapping bill;
Unknown thy pangs, till morning glowed,
And seen thy blood upon the sill.
Perhaps thy wounds by this are healed,
And thou hast forgot the unsheltered place;
But I were to instruction steeled
Should I forget thy suffering's trace.
Full oft our eyes are closed in sleep
Too deep to wake at misery's call,
Full oft a feeble watch we keep
When, without aid, the weak must fall.
Lord! strengthen me the hour to heed
That brings the sufferer to my door,
That I may to his succour speed,
Ere yet the time Thou giv'st be o'er.