Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/243

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For thou, a holy shepherdess and kind, Through the pine forests, by the upland rills, Didst roam to seek the children of the hills, A wild neglected flock! to seek, and find, And meekly win! there feeding each young mind With balms of heavenly eloquence: not thine, Daughter of Christ! but his, whose love divine Its own clear spirit in thy breast had shrined, A burning light! Oh! beautiful, in truth, Upon the mountains are the feet of those Who bear his tidings! From thy morn of youth, For this were all thy journeyings, and the close Of that long path, Heaven's own bright sabbath-rest, Must wait thee, wanderer! on thy Saviour's breast.