ST. CUTHBERT.
Behold the shepherd lad of Lammermuir
Tending his small flock on the uplands bleak.
Alone he seems, yet to his young heart speak
Voices that none may hear except the pure.
His dreaming eyes—where duller souls, secure
Of earth alone, see naught—are quick to seek
Angels howe’er disguised; and week by week
The higher call within grows clear and sure.
Now see him, humbly clad, with staff in hand,
Thread the wild vales of Tweed and Teviot,
To bear God’s Word through a benighted land,
And bless with prayer each peasant’s lonely cot.
Brave soul wert thou, though few thy worth may sing,
Thou chosen saint of England’s noblest king.