Classic Poem

The storm hath ceased: yet still I hear,
The distant thunder sounding,
And from the mountains, far and near,
The headlong torrents bounding.
The jackal shrieks upon the rocks;
The tiger-wolf is howling;
The panther round the folded flocks
With stifled gurr is prowling.
But lay thee down in peace, my child;
God watcheth o'er us midst the wild.

I fear the Bushman is abroad —
He loves the midnight thunder;
The sheeted lightning shows the road,
That leads his feet to plunder:
I'd rather meet the hooded-snake
Than hear his rattling quiver,
When, like an adder, through the brake,
He glides along the river.
But, darling, hush thy heart to sleep —
The Lord our Shepherd watch doth keep.

The Kosa from Luheri high,
Looks down upon our dwelling;
And shakes the vengeful assagai, —
Unto his clansman telling
How he, for us , by grievous wrong,
Hath lost these fertile valleys;
And boasts that now his hand is strong
To pay the debt of malice.
But sleep, my child; a Mightier Arm
Shall shield thee (helpless one!) from harm.

The moon is up; a fleecy cloud
O'er heaven's blue deeps is sailing;
The stream, that lately raved so loud,
Makes now a gentle wailing.
From yonder crags, lit by the moon,
I hear a wild voice crying;
— 'Tis but the harmless bear-baboon,
Unto his mates replying.
Hush — hush thy dreams, my moaning dove,
And slumber in the arms of love!

The wolf, scared by the watch-dog's bay,
Is to the woods returning;
By his rock-fortress, far away,
The Bushman's fire is burning.
And hark! Sicana's midnight hymn,
Along the valley swelling,
Calls us to stretch the wearied limb,
While kinsmen guard our dwelling:
Though vainly watchmen wake from sleep,
" Unless the Lord the city keep."

At dawn, we'll seek, with songs of praise,
Our food on the savannah,
As Israel sought, in ancient days,
The heaven-descended manna;
With gladness from the fertile land
The veld-kost we will gather,
A harvest planted by the hand
Of the Almighty Father —
From thraldom who redeems our race,
To plant them in their ancient place.

Then, let us calmly rest, my child;
Jehovah's arm is round us,
The God, the Father reconciled,
In heathen gloom who found us;
Who to this heart, by sorrow broke,
His wondrous WORD revealing,
Led me, a lost sheep, to the flock,
And to the Fount of Healing.
Oh may the Saviour-Shepherd lead
My darling where his lambs do feed!