Classic Poem

Out upon the lonely cross-roads,
In the Crucifix's shadow,
Stood a robber slyly lurking:
In his hand the shining sabre
And the bullet-loaded rifle.
He was watching for a merchant
Who, with money in great plenty,
Precious wines, and costly dresses,
From the market home was coming.
Down had sunk the sun already,
And the moon through clouds was rising,
And the robber stood and waited
In the Crucifix's shadow.

Listen! sounds like angel voices,
Gentle sighs and loud petitions
Clear as evening bells, are coming
Through the silent air toward him:
Sweetly, with unwonted accents,
Steals upon his ear a prayer;
Eagerly he stands and listens:

“Oh, Protector of the Lonely!
Oh, thou Guardian of the Lost Ones!
Turn, oh turn thy heavenly countenance,
Bright as sunlight, sweetly smiling,
Down on us thy humble children.
Spread, oh spread thy arms so loving,
Arms, that once the cross extended,
Like two wings around our father;
That no storm his path endanger,
That his good horse may not stumble,
That no robber, slyly lurking,
In the forest depths may seize him.
Oh, Protector of the Lonely!
Oh, thou Guardian of the Lost Ones!
Homeward guide our loving father.”
And the robber heard all these things
In the Crucifix's shadow.

Crossing then himself, the youngest
Piously his soft hands folded,
While he prayed with child-like lispings:—
“Christ! I know thou art almighty,
Sitting on the throne of Heaven
Midst the stars' bright golden glitter,
Midst the lovely, happy angels;
So the nurse has often told me:
Oh be gracious, Christ, I pray thee,
Give the bold and daring robber,
Give him bread and bread in plenty,
That he need no more to plunder,
Nor to murder our dear father.
Knew I where to find a robber,
I my little chain would give him,
And my cross, too, and my girdle;
Saying to him, dear, good robber,
Take this chain and cross and girdle,
That thou need no more to plunder
Nor to murder our dear father.”
And the robber heard all these things
In the Crucifix's shadow.

Now, afar, he hears him coming,
Horses snorting, wheels swift rolling:
Slowly does he seize the sabre,
Slowly does he take the rifle,
And then stands there, deeply thinking,
In the Crucifix's shadow.
Still are kneeling down the children:
“Oh, Protector of the Lonely!
Oh, thou Guardian of the Lost Ones!
Homeward guide our loving father.”

And the father, hither driving,
Safe and well and unattended,
Clasps the children to his bosom;
Blest their prattle! sweet their kisses!
But they never saw the robber:
Only found the shining sabre
And the bullet-loaded rifle
In the Crucifix's shadow,
Lying there where he had dropped them.