Bees in Amber | Page 7

my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
The beasts are safely gathered in,
--Black is the night and cold--
They are snug and
warm, and safe from harm,
In stall and byre and fold.
And the dogs and I, by the
blazing fire,
Care nought for the snow and the cold.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
The barns are bursting with their store
Of grain like yellow gold;
A full, fat year has
brought good cheer,
--Black is the night and cold.--
But ... What care I for teeming
barns?
And what care I for gold?
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
In the great kitchen, maids and men,
--Black is the night and cold--
Laugh loud and
long, with jest and song,
And merry revel hold.
Let them laugh and sing, let them
have their fling,
But for me--I am growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
The old house moans, and sighs and groans,
--Black is the night and cold--
We have
seen brave times, you and I, old friend,
But now--we are growing old.
We have stood
foursquare to many a storm,
But now--we are growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
Her mother sleeps on the hill out there,

--Black is the night and cold,--
She is free
from care, she is happier there,
Beneath the warm brown mould.
And I've sometimes
hoped they may have met,
And the end of the tale be told.
_Ah ... where is our lamb--
Our one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?
Was that a branch that shed its load?
--Black is the night and cold,--
Or--was it a
footstep in the snow--
A timid footstep--halting, slow?
Ah me! I am getting old!
Is
that a tapping--soft and low?
Can it be ... I thought I heard ... but no,
'Twas only a
branch that shed its snow,--
God's truth! I am getting old!
_For I thought ... maybe
It was my lamb
Come home again to the fold_.
Dear Lord! a hand at the frozen pane!
--White on the night's black cold--
O my lamb!

my lamb! are you come again?
My dear lost lamb, are you come again?
Are you
come again to the fold?
It is!... It is!... Now I thank Thee, Lord,
For Thy Mercies
manifold!
_She is come again!
She is home again!
My lamb that strayed from the fold_!
BIDE A WEE!
Though the times be dark and dreary,
Though the way be long,
Keep your spirits
bright and cheery,--
--"Bide a wee, and dinna weary!"
Is a heartsome song.
THE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID
"A red rose for my helmet,
And a word before we part!
The rose shall be my
oriflamme
The word shall fill my heart."
_Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart--
Just a look, just a word and a look!
A look or a
sign that my love shall divine
And a word for my hungering heart_!
She toyed with his love and her roses;
Was it mischief or mischance?--
She dropped
him a rose--'twas a white one,
And he lifted it on his lance.
_Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Is it thus--is it thus we part?
With never a look, and
never a sign,
Nor a word for my hungering heart_!
She sought him among the dying,
She found him among the dead;
And the rose was
still in his helmet.
But his life had stained it red.
_Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Now my heart within me is dead.
And alack for the
look!
And alas for the sign!
And the word that was left unsaid_!
DON'T WORRY
Just do your best,
And leave the rest
To Him who gave you
Life,--
And Zeal for
Labour,--
And the Joy of Strife,--
And Zest of Love,--
And all that lifts your soul
above
The lower things.
Life's truest harvest is in what we would,
And strive our best for,
Not most in what we
could.
The things we count supreme
Stand, haply, not so high
In God's esteem
As
How_ and _Why.
All-Seeing Sight
Cleaves through the husk of things,
Right to the Roots and
Springs,--
Sees all things whole,
And measures less the body than the soul.

All-Righteous Right
Will weigh men's motives,
Not their deeds alone.
End and
Beginning unto Him are one;
And would_ for _could shall oft, perchance, atone.

Motives are seeds,
From which at times spring deeds
Not equal to the soul's
outreaching hope.
Strive for the stars!
Count nought well done but best!
Then, with
brave patience, leave the rest
To Him who knows.
He'll judge you justly ere the
record close.
THE GOLDEN ROSE
The Golden Rose is blowing still,
Is growing still, is glowing still,
In lonely vale, on
lordly hill,
The Golden Rose is glowing still;--
If only you can find it!
The Golden Rose still breaks and blows,
Still breaks and blows, still gleams and glows,

'Mid icy blasts, and wintry snows,
The Golden Rose still breaks and blows;--

Search w ell and you may find it!
The Golden Rose can never die,
'Tis grafted on Eternity;
In hearts that Love doth
glorify,
The Golden Rose can never die,--
May it be yours to find it!
GADARA, A.D. 31
Rabbi, begone! Thy powers
Bring