Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/101

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THE PRISONER OF THE LORD.
87

THE PRISONER OF THE LORD.

Psalm cxlvi. 8. Sol. Song ii. 14.

"Many are reaping the harvest-fields,
And I lie here alone,
Counting the time by the dreary night:
Oh, when will the day be gone?

"Some lead the flock to the mountain-height,
And some to the dewy lawn;
And the fishers their nets from the silvery tide,
The weight of their spoil have drawn;

"But I lie here with my yearning heart,
On labor I long to share;
My lattice is dark, and heavy my chain,
And fetters I still must wear."

The plaint had ceased from the maiden's lips,
When over the mountains spread
A ray more bright than the morning star;
It gleamed on a scroll unread.

A scroll that told of a Father's love,
Of His might, His way, and His will,
Of the faithful Friend who never forsakes,
The Master who loves her still.