Classic Poem

Who cometh out of the sea
Wrapt in His winding-sheet?
He who hung on the Tree
With blood on His hands and feet, —
On the frozen isles He leaps, and lo, the sea-lambs round Him bleat!

The cry of the flocks o' the Sea
Rings in the ears of the Man!
Gentle and mild is He,
Tho' worn and weak and wan;
The mild-eyed seals look up in joy, His pitiful face to scan.

They gather round Him there,
He blesses them one and all, —
On their eyes and tangled hair
His tears of blessing fall; —
But He starteth up and He listeneth, for He hears the hunter's call!

Moaning in fear He flies
Leading the wild sea-herds,
O'er Him, under the skies,
Follow the startled birds.
" Father, look down!" He moans aloud, and the Heavens fling back His words!

The hunter's feet are swift,
The feet of the Christ are slow,
Nearer they come who lift
Red hands for the butcher's blow, —
Aye me, the bleeding lambs of the Sea, who struggle and wail in woe!

Blind with the lust of death
Are the red hunter's eyes,
Around him blood like breath
Streams to the silent skies, —
Slain again 'mong the slain sea-lambs the white Christ moans and dies!

" Even as the least of these,
Butcher'd again, I fall!"
O gentle lambs of the Sea,
Who leapt to hear Him call,
Bleeding there in your midst He lies, who gladden'd and blest you all!

And the hunter striding by,
Blind, with no heart to feel,
Laughs at the anguish'd cry,
And crushes under his heel
The head of the Christ that looketh up with the eyes of a slaughter'd seal!