The Good Shepherd

 Winter snow crusted in ghostly white

 and all the wilds shudder in fright

Over the rock piles the wind is moaning

 and deep in the forest hearts are groaning.

For far out on the dune their comes a faint cry

for out in the grasses, and whirling snow lay an orphan

forsaken, abandoned, and left their to die.

And now high on the bluff their howls a glad cry.

Over the drifts they come like the moon

 gliding like a devil in a silvery plume.

And onward they rush their fangs flashing white,

 now nothing can stop them, wolves in full flight.

The cry of the child speeds through the night,

and now from the depths a figure approaches

covered in snow, and hair all a mess

Nothing can stop him, he has come here to fight.

Clenching his sword in numbing resolve, 

as on come the wolves, hungry and frantic.

His muscles tensed with the oncoming fray,

and he closed his eyes and tried to pray.

No words would come in that desperate hour

and all his hopes vanished like a vapor of smoke.

Then a spark lit within him and he knew he was safe

for he felt his shepherds warm embrace.

Rock of Ages Cleft for me,

as I hide myself in thee.

No storm can make him waste the day,

until in his arms the orphans lay.

                                                                         J. Z   Mcgintry