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Fires of Driftwood

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<h3 id="Spring_in_Nazareth">Spring in Nazareth</h3> “THE Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;   Sing, sweet Mary, “The Spring is come to Nazareth And swift the Summer hurrieth.”   Sing low, the barley and the corn! Across the field a path is set—   Sing, sweet Mary, Green shadow in a golden net— The tears of night have left it wet.   Sing low, the barley and the corn! The Babe forsakes His mother’s knee,   Haste, sweet Mary— See how He runneth merrily, One foot upon the path hath He—   Green, green, the barley and the corn! The mother calls with mother-fear—   Hush, sweet Mary! Another sound is in His ear, A sound he cannot choose but hear—   Hush, hush, the barley and the corn! Far and still far—through years yet dim   List, sweet Mary! From o’er the waking earth’s green rim Another Springtime calleth Him!   Bend low, the barley and the corn!  Call low, call high, and call again,   Ah, poor Mary! Know, by thy heart’s prophetic pain, That one day thou shalt call in vain—   Moan, moan, the barley and the corn! O mother! make thine arms a shield,   Sing, sweet Mary! While love still holds what love must yield Hide well the path across the field!—   Sing low, the barley and the corn! . . . . . “The Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;   Rest thee, Mary— The passing years are but a breath And Spring still comes to Nazareth—   Green, green, the barley and the corn!  <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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