 | Sermons and songs of the Christian life |  |
181
THE YOUNG HUNTER.
“Come, my boy, and in the meadows
Tend the little lambs to-day;
Play with them beside the brooklets
Where they pluck the flowers so gay.
“Mother, mother, with my bow
To the mountains I must go.”
Tend the little lambs to-day;
Play with them beside the brooklets
Where they pluck the flowers so gay.
“Mother, mother, with my bow
To the mountains I must go.”
“Why not with the horn's brisk music
Lead the cattle through the dells?
Lovely in the Alpine pastures
Is the tinkling of the bells.”
“On the mountains with my bow,
Mother, mother, let me go.”
Lead the cattle through the dells?
Lovely in the Alpine pastures
Is the tinkling of the bells.”
“On the mountains with my bow,
Mother, mother, let me go.”
“Go and tend the flowerets, blooming
In their garden beds, my child;
In the garden all is pleasant,—
But the mountain-tops, how wild!”
“Let the flowerets bloom and grow,
Mother, mother, let me go!”
In their garden beds, my child;
In the garden all is pleasant,—
But the mountain-tops, how wild!”
“Let the flowerets bloom and grow,
Mother, mother, let me go!”
Through the mountain's wildest regions
The young hunter rushed away,
Where the steep and winding pathway
Scarcely sees the light of day,
And before the hunter near
Flies the swift gazelle in fear.
The young hunter rushed away,
Where the steep and winding pathway
Scarcely sees the light of day,
And before the hunter near
Flies the swift gazelle in fear.
182
Climbing with a breezy motion,
On the ribs of rock she clings;
O'er the deeply yawning fissures
With a lightsome bound she springs;
And the hunter from below,
Follows with his deadly bow.
On the ribs of rock she clings;
O'er the deeply yawning fissures
With a lightsome bound she springs;
And the hunter from below,
Follows with his deadly bow.
Now she gains a rocky splinter,
Hanging from its highest steep;
There she sees the pathway vanish,
And before the dreadful deep,—
Sees the fatal steep below,
And behind, her cruel foe.
Hanging from its highest steep;
There she sees the pathway vanish,
And before the dreadful deep,—
Sees the fatal steep below,
And behind, her cruel foe.
With a look of deepest sorrow
And beseeching agony,
Turns she toward her cruel hunter,
Dumbly pleading with her eye;
But regardless of her woe
He levels straight the deadly bow.
And beseeching agony,
Turns she toward her cruel hunter,
Dumbly pleading with her eye;
But regardless of her woe
He levels straight the deadly bow.
Sudden from a rocky fissure
Rose a form of awful grace;
'T was the Spirit of the Mountain,
'T was the Genius of the place;
And the quivering gazelle
With his hands he shielded well.
Rose a form of awful grace;
'T was the Spirit of the Mountain,
'T was the Genius of the place;
And the quivering gazelle
With his hands he shielded well.
Then he turned upon the hunter
While his eyes with anger glowed
“Must you carry death and sorrow
Clear up here to mine abode?
Earth has room for all her own,
Let my beauteous flock alone!”
While his eyes with anger glowed
“Must you carry death and sorrow
Clear up here to mine abode?
Earth has room for all her own,
Let my beauteous flock alone!”
| Sermons and songs of the Christian life | |