By winding paths, amid the tangled woods
That skirt the silent deep-kloofed Zuurberg hill,
A lately wedded pair meandering, fill
Their cup of tender joy. The peace that broods
O’er Nature’s tranquil face reflected shines
From loving eyes, as they in converse sweet
Plot out a rose-fringed path with prudence meet,
And mark with glowing hearts its “pleasant lines.”
Mysterious are Thy ways, great King of saints
In sudden fear they vainly strive to thread
Their homeward track, when lo! the husband faints.
Deaf to her voice, with agonizing dread
She dares the maze, in search of human aid.
In vain! The Teacher “sleepeth” in the shade.
William Selwyn.
Port Elizabeth, 25th Jan. 1886.
“LORD! WHAT IS MAN THAT THOU ART MINDFUL OF HIM!”
Panting climbers to some barren height;
Eager chasers of some phantom light;
Emmets piling wayside domes of clay,
That, crushed to dust, the whirlwind sweeps away;
Toilers vain, O Lord, are we.
Fluttering night-birds dazzled by the day;
Wayworn travellers who have lost their way;
Miners groping slowly in the gloom;
Children sobbing round a mother’s tomb;
Blind and helpless, Lord, are we.
Flow’rets drooping in the noon-tide sun;
Autumn leaves descending one by one;
Bubbles dancing on life’s foaming wave;
Shadowy spirits hurrying to the grave;
Frail and fleeting, Lord, are we.
Trembling sparklets of immortal fire;
Infant songsters ’mid an angel choir;
Tiny parts of one complex machine
Guided by an architect unseen.
None unnoticed, Lord, by Thee.
Dewdrops glistening in a radiant love;
Diamond sand-grains registered above;
Separate nurslings of a Father’s care,
That gently numbers every silken hair,
Weak and faithless though we be.