Classic Poem

“Oh seek not the forest so dark and wild,
'Twill cost thee thy life, thou vent'rous child!”
“My light is my heavenly Father good,
He leaveth me not in the darksome wood.”

Down, down he goeth—the venturous child—
Beneath him roareth the torrent wild;
Above him the branches are rustling loud,
And the sun, nigh setting, is veiled in cloud.

To the robber's dark hut have his footsteps strayed,
From the window gazeth a winsome maid.
“Poor child, so tender, so young!” she saith,
“Why comest thou down to the vale of death?”

The murderous crew from the door appear,
The maiden veileth her face for fear;
They strike him, they wound him, they strip him bare,
Then wounded and dying they leave him there.

“How dark! how lonely! no sun, no star!
On whom shall I call? Is God so far?
Ah heavenly Maid in thy bright array,
Receive my soul in thy hands, I pray!”