Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/247

 Stop!—ye go to ruin and wrack!— (Dogs! And not a word comes back!)

Think of household and of home!

To a greater Home we come!

Think of meadow-plot and field; Think of teeming stall and fold!

Heavenly dews did manna yield When the chosen starved of old!

Hark! your women cry in chorus

[In the distance.]

Ours they are not if they quail!

"Father's gone!" your children wail.

Be against us, or be for us!

[''Gazes a while with folded hands after them; then dejectedly.'']

By his faithless flock deserted Stands the old shepherd, heavy-hearted, Plunder'd to the very skin!