Poems (David)/Legend of the Robin

by Edith Mary David

LEGEND OF THE ROBIN.

WHEN on the cross the Son of God
 An offering for us was made—
Sore wounded by each rankling thorn,
 The flush of pain doth rise and fade.

Who for that God, made one with man,
 Of kindly pity feels a gleam—
His precepts pure, His hallow'd words,
 Are scoff'd at as an idle dream!

Weeping, heart-sick, faint and stricken,
 All prone in grief His mother lies,
While gibe and jeer fly gaily round,
 Mix'd with the gamblers' angry cries!

But alone did one wee brown bird
 Close hover round His wounded side;
And with unavailing effort
 In vain to heal the wound it tried.

As the robin hung around Him,
 Marked with blood its gentle breast;
And the Saviour as He blest him
 Caused it there to ever rest!

Ah! as a sign to men dear bird
 Shall be the seal I place on ye;
When upon thy form they're gazing,
 They ever may remember Me!

Thou shalt help them bear each burden
 Althrough this weary world of strife;
Many a tear and many a blessing
 Oft men will weave about thy life.

So when man shall My Christmas keep,
 Then thou shalt sing of Easter Day:
This the work I have assigned thee
 Until the earth hath passed away.

When I come in strength and glory,
 Before the Great Throne thou shalt sing;
Many souls which I have died for
 Ne'er so pure an offering bring.

And to this day he hovers round,
 Bright, sprightly robin, red and brown;—
With his wint'ry song he cheers us,
 And doth many a blessing win.