Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/53

51 Two mates were drifting thus one night
 * In lonely silence on the Bay,

Such silence as old comrades know
 * That means more than a man can say.

Then spoke at last the younger man–
 * “The Babe is fretting sore to-night;

And pitiful it is to hear
 * Its cries up yonder on the height!”

And then the twain began to speak
 * Of that sad story of the place;

And question why such things should he
 * And what could limit Saving Grace.

“For seemeth me,” the elder said,
 * “That babe hath more than common loss,

For it was born on holy ground
 * Though never named with sign of cross.”

“And seemeth me,” he musing said,
 * “It must have been so nearly saved,

That even now it might be blest
 * If any man the deed had braved.”