The Syrian Shepherd

ELIZABETH HAYWARD GARDNER

On silent Syrian hills the shepherd watched,
Communing in the fragrant star-filled dark
With all-pervading peace, which settled down
O'er folded flocks of sheep and little lambs,
All trustful in appealing helplessness;
Content to feel the shepherd's hov'ring care;
Content to rest where'er his presence bides.

Soft, drowsy rustlings stir the peaceful flocks,—
The shuffling sound of little nestling lambs;
And wide-awake, alert to prowling foe,
Wrapped in his mantle, as his flock is wrapped
In his protecting love, the shepherd stands,
Leaning upon his staff. Oh, Shepherd of the world,
So standest Thou, at watch above Thy sheep!

What sweet solicitude has touched his heart,
Tender with ministry to baby lambs
And willful, straying sheep? What sudden rush
Of love has overflowed th' uplifted thought—
Quick'ning his vision—'til he is aware
Of sudden glory shining all around,
Enfolding him and all his slumbering charge?

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