Chapter XV

And hark, His whispers thro' creation flow,
_Lovest thou me?_ His nations answer "yea!"
And--_Feed My lambs_, His voice as long ago
Steals from that highest heaven, how far away!
And yet again saith--_Lovest thou Me?_ and "O,
Thou knowest we love Thee," passionately we cry:
But, heeding not our tumult, out of the deep
The great grave whisper, pitiful and low,
Breathes--_Feed My sheep_; and yet once more the sky
Thrills with that deep strange plea,
_Lovest thou, lovest thou Me?_
And our lips answer "yea"; but our God--_Feed My sheep._