The Story
of Saville
And had marred his work with an atheist’s doubt of God and His questionless ways.
But e’en as he strayed, a bewildered child, where the tide swirled over the beach,
A starry seraph had caught his hand and guided him safe out of reach
Of the waves seductive of unbelief and their low insidious speech,
Whispering, “God is over us all, and He cares for His children each!”
And he said that often it frightful seemed that aught should hinder or ban
Our life of a minute’s duration, should shorten the firefly span
Of effort and strength and passionate zeal for truth allotted to man,—
But it had been well for himself to pause,—in the interval he had thought,
Had won experience deep and rich that should in his work be wrought,
And he could not thank her in all his life for the wonderful things she had taught,—
Henceforth his pictures should sing of her, Saville their dominant tone,
Merely the pigments and tactile skill, the outward shell, were his own,
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