THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS
His eyes with heavy tears were wet,
He beat his breast with many a moan:
Surely, my Lord the Abbot thought,
Some sinner in whom grace hath wrought.
He beat his breast with many a moan:
Surely, my Lord the Abbot thought,
Some sinner in whom grace hath wrought.
He sent him out to tend the kiln,
To feed the mill and grind the corn.
Like a great clown of little skill
He bore large burdens, night and morn.
He cleaned the cattle's house and laid
The food before each grateful head.
To feed the mill and grind the corn.
Like a great clown of little skill
He bore large burdens, night and morn.
He cleaned the cattle's house and laid
The food before each grateful head.
Yet still he sang, lest God should miss
One voice that praised His Name for long
Perhaps, or for the singing-bliss.
He never sang so good a song
As that which brought the kine to hear,
And the shy hare and timid deer.
One voice that praised His Name for long
Perhaps, or for the singing-bliss.
He never sang so good a song
As that which brought the kine to hear,
And the shy hare and timid deer.
(The brother and friend of beast and bird.
Once, when an oak-bough fell on him
And crushed him, and his cries unheard,
He swooned, and life went low and dim,
The birds shrieked with such clamour and rout
They brought the human helpers out.)
Once, when an oak-bough fell on him
And crushed him, and his cries unheard,
He swooned, and life went low and dim,
The birds shrieked with such clamour and rout
They brought the human helpers out.)
O, but the fields stretched green and glad,
With stars of gold and stars of white,
No lovelier stars the heaven had,
The clear pellucid heaven at night:
The low hills tender as the dove
Girdled the bright fields round with love.
With stars of gold and stars of white,
No lovelier stars the heaven had,
The clear pellucid heaven at night:
The low hills tender as the dove
Girdled the bright fields round with love.
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