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More clear and splendid than the rising sun,
And while my every nerve with rapture thrill'd,
A Power Supreme my soul in silence held.
Prone on the earth my bending knees I bow'd,
My rais'd eyes fixing on a crimson cloud,
Which from its cleaving arch this mandate bore,
"Go, shepherd, lead thy much lov'd flock no more."
My trembling lips now prest the soil I trod,
"Shepherd! forsake thy flock, and be the Seer of God."
Uprising at the heavenly call, I laid
My crook and scrip beneath the spreading shade,
"I go, I go, my God," my answering spirit said.
Through the rough stream I dash'd, whose foaming tide
Came whit'ning from the mountain's hoary side:
O'er rocks I bounded, thro' dark forests ran,
To seek the busy haunts of guilty man.
Yet pressing on my path, I heard with pain
The echoing footsteps of a distant train;
I saw my snowy lambs approaching near,
And wondering at their master's bold career;
With gentle look, and piteous moans they stood,
To ask of me their guidance and their food.
A moment pausing in my anxious race,
I dash'd the gathering tear-drop from my face,
