 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
116
DAVID THE TRANSGRESSOR.
Silence had fallen on the minstrel-king,And melancholy brooded o'er his throne;
Out of his palace gates God's peace had flown—
No heart had he to pray or tongue to sing:
In vain he longed for some air-cleaving wing
To waft him far away to desert lone;
Sadly he reaps what he had madly sown—
Sin has no Harvest-sheaves of joy to bring.
Alas! one touch of guilty hands had jarr'd
The harp that thrill'd to many a holy psalm;
The shadow of one sin had shut and barr'd
The windows whence flowed down heaven's sunshine calm,
And like a canker or a blight had marr'd
The gracious verdure of earth's stateliest palm.
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