ONE OF THE SHEPHERDS 
     
    
   
   
    
     WE were out on the hills that night 
     
    

    
     To watch our sheep; 
     
    

    
     Drowsily by the fire we lay 
     
    

    
     Where the waning flame did flicker and leap, 
     
    

    
     And some were weary and half asleep, 
     
    

    
     And some talked low of their flocks and the fright 
     
     Of a lion that day. 
     
    
   
   
    
     But I had drawn from the others apart; 
     
    

    
     I was only a lad, 
     
    

    
     And the night’s great silence so filled my heart 
     
     That I dared not talk and I dared not jest; 
     
     The moon had gone down behind the hill 
     
    

    
     And even the wind of the desert was still; 
     
    

    
     As the touch of death the air was cold, 
     
    

    
     And the world seemed all outworn and old ; 
     
     Yet a poignant delight in my soul was guest, 
     
     And I could not be sad. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Still were my thoughts the thoughts of youth 
     
     Under the skies: 
     
    

    
     I dreamed of the holy and tender truth 
     
    

    
     That shone for me in my mother’s eyes; 
     
    

    
     Of my little sister’s innocent grace, 
     
    

    
     And the mirthful lure in the olive face 
     
    

    
     Of a maid I had seen at the well that day, 
     
     Singing low as I passed that way, 
     
    

    
     And so sweet and wild were the notes of her song, 
     
     That I listened long. 
     
    
   
   
    
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