I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff of pride,
Nor beggary, nor dungeon-bars,
Can move you from my side!
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old,
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold;
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel,
By day and night your constant joy,
To guard and please me well:
I clasp your head upon my breast—
And while you whine and lick my hand—
And thus our friendship is confessed
And thus we understand!
Ah, Blanco! did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my master trod
With your humility;
Did I sit fondly at His feet,
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch him with a love as sweet,
My life would grow divine!
J. G. Holland.