And spring for the light wings and gaudy flowers,
As in the early morning; but he kept
Close by his father’s side, and bent his head
Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,
Lifting it not, save now and then to steal
A look up to the face whose sternness awed
His childishness to silence.
It was noon;
And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself,
And buried up his face, and prayed for strength.