The vagrant sheep—(The disciple)

(The Saviour of the World, Vol V Book V Poem LXII)

Sure, I, a sheep of the Good Shepherd’s fold;
One day I ’scape Him for the uplands cold
Which entice my silly fancy with the hope
Of pasture new and delicate, free scope:
Eager I leave the fold nor meet the eye
Of Him in charge as stealthy I creep by:
Lo, those high places difficult of ascent
Yield nought for famished creature’s nourishment:
I bleat in desolate terror; soon, He comes;
The Shepherd follows there, where His sheep roams.

Another day I spy a pasture green,—
Rich, luscious eating for a sheep I ween;
I steal away whilst He doth play His lute,
And the good sheep lie round entranced and mute:
Soon taste I of that herbage coarse and rude;
And fain would leave it, with disgust imbued:
But I am sinking, may not step or rise,
A rank swamp holding me my strength defies:—
The shepherd comes and rescues me again,
And tender bears me to the peaceful plain.

Sure, never would I wander more, you cry?
Ah, sheep, they be but silly! A wood hard by
Hedged a fair lawn, and I must needs essay
To reach that pasture green, though hard the way;
I had not penetrated far the grove,
When, lo, I was locked fast; I could not move
For thorns that held me, tore me, made me bleed;
I cried and vexed me sore that with slight heed
I had involved me in so hazardous place:
The Shepherd came and freed me of dear grace.

The barren heights of intellect erst wooed,—
Thither the tender Shepherd me pursued:
Lusts of the flesh, indulgence, swamped my soul,—
My Saviour brought me under sweet control:
The cares of life, as cruel thorns, held back,—
Brought safe to Christ His meads I knew no lack:
And now, a sheep secure in pastures green,
My soul expands in the so beauteous scene
Displayed where’er the Shepherd leads His flock—
Now, to full pastures, now, to sheltering Rock.

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