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And then one spoke–“Ah, say not so
That sinless souls could thus be left
To suffer for another’s fault
Forever–of all hope bereft.”
“Such hapless souls might rather be
The nurselings of the saints on high,
And learn in gentler worlds than ours
The music of the earth and sky.”
“Alas!” he said, “Those little ones
Who unbaptised have breathed and died,
May never reach the highest bliss–
But still–the Father’s net is wide.”
“And you shall hear how this poor Babe
Was lifted from its grievous plight,
And, by the faith of two poor men,
Set free to reach the blessed Light.”
••••••
From Niarbyl Point to Bradda Head
The great Bay Mooar lies broad and deep,
And here the fishers cast their nets,
While landward folk are lost in sleep.
