Page:Dora Sigerson Shorter - New Poems.djvu/23

 Without the shadow of the trees That bent above his way, Where lost the moon her silver light, He stood at last at bay.

And on his gown, from his pale brow Fell great tears of his fright; His shaking hands held close the gold Wrapped in its cloth so white.

He knelt him down upon his knee And prayed the Lord to hear, "Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet That hold me slow in fear.

"Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart That trembles all afraid, In pity for the calling sick Who die without my aid.

"And let me bring all safely through The shadows of the night, The gold I bear for old and poor, Still Thou this strange affright."