by: Ruth Temple Lindsay
"The Devil, as a roaring
lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour."
- HE LION,
he prowleth far and near,
- Nor swerves for pain or rue;
- He heedeth nought of sloth nor fear,
- He prowleth--prowleth through
- The silent glade and the weary street,
- In the empty dark and the full noon heat;
- And a little Lamb with aching Feet--
- He prowleth too.
- The Lion croucheth alert, apart--
- With patience doth he woo;
- He waiteth long by the shuttered heart,
- And the Lamb--He waiteth too.
- Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill,
- Through the twisting maze of the great Untrue,
- The Lion followeth the fainting will--
- And the Lamb--He followeth too.
- From the thickets dim of the hidden way
- Where the debts of Hell accrue,
- The Lion leapeth upon his prey:
- But the Lamb--He leapeth too.
- Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn,
- Mark Devil and God as goals,
- In the panting love of a famished Lamb,
- Gone mad with the need of souls.
- The Lion, he strayeth near and far;
- What heights hath he left untrod?
- He crawleth nigh to the purest star,
- On the trail of the saints of God.
- And throughout the darkness of things unclean,
- In the depths where the sin-ghouls brood,
- There prowleth ever with yearning mien--
- A Lamb as white as Blood!
MORE POEMS BY RUTH TEMPLE LINDSAY
"The Hunters" is reprinted
from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. Ed. Nicholson
& Lee. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1917.