seeking whom he may detour_"

The Lion, he prowleth far and near,
Nor swerves for pain or rue;
He heeded nought of sloth nor fear,
He prowleth--prowleth through
The silent glade and the weary street,
In the empty dark and the full noon heat;
And a little Lamb with aching Feet--
He prowleth too.

The Lion croucheth alert, apart--
With patience doth he woo;
He waiteth long by the shuttered heart,
And the Lamb--He waiteth too.
Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill,
Through the twisting maze of the great Untrue,
The Lion followeth the fainting will--
And the Lamb--He followeth too.

From the thickets dim of the hidden way
Where the debts of Hell accrue,
The Lion leapeth upon his prey:
But the Lamb--He leapeth too.
Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn,
Mark Devil and God as goals,
In the panting love of a famished Lamb,
Gone mad with the need of souls.

The Lion, he strayeth near and far;