Page:Dora Sigerson Shorter - New Poems.djvu/12

 "Into my hands deliver," cried the man, "The chast'ning of my foe, His vineyards grant me—his slaves and oxen, So shall I lay him low."

"Give to me strange beauty," said the young maid, "More fair than all to be, So I anoint my body and go forth To draw men’s hearts to me."

"Behold! this is not good," said the Lord God, "Nor made to My desire," Then cried His little Son, "I shall go forth, To save them from Thine ire." "Oh, reach ye down your arms," said the Good God Unto the seraphim, "Lift up the broken body of My child For they have tortured Him."