Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/73

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THE SONG OF THE SOWER.
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The mystie loaf that crowns the board,When, round the table of their Lord,  Within a thousand temples set,In memory of the bitter deathOf him who taught at Nazareth,  His followers are met,And thoughtful eyes with tears are wet, As of the Holy One they think,The glory of whose rising, yet Makes bright the grave's mysterious brink.IX. Brethren, the sower's task is done.The seed is in its winter bed.Now let the dark brown mould be spread, To hide it from the sun,And leave it to the kindly careOf the still earth and brooding air.As when the mother, from her breast,Lays the hushed babe apart to rest,And shades its eyes and waits to seeHow sweet its waking smile will be.
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