W. V.«.

The Shepherd Beautiful! O good and
sweet,
O Shepherd ever lovely, ever young,
Was it because they gathered at Thy feet,
Because upon Thy pastoral pipe they
hung,
That they were happy in those evil days,
That these grim crypts were arched with
heavenly blue,
And spaced in verdurous vistas lit with
streams ?
Ah, let me count the ways,
Fair Shepherd of the world, in which they
drew
Thee in that most divine of human
dreams.

They limned Thee standing near the wattled
shed,
The strayed sheep on Thy shoulders, and
the flock
Bleating fond welcome. Seasons of the
year —
Spring gathering roses swung athwart the
rock,

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