“O wretched loss—­untimely stroke! 
  If he had died upon his bed! 
  He knew not one forewarning pain;
  He never will come home again—­
  Is dead, for ever dead!” 1050

  Beside the Woman Peter stands;
  His heart is opening more and more;
  A holy sense pervades his mind;
  He feels what he for human-kind
  Had never felt before. 1055

  At length, by Peter’s arm sustained,
  The Woman rises from the ground—­
  “Oh, mercy! something must be done,
  My little Rachel, you must run,—­
  Some willing neighbour must be found. 1060

  “Make haste—­my little Rachel—­do,
  The first you meet with—­bid him come,
  Ask him to lend his horse to-night,
  And this good Man, whom Heaven requite,
  Will help to bring the body home.” 1065

  Away goes Rachel weeping loud;—­
  An Infant, waked by her distress,
  Makes in the house a piteous cry;
  And Peter hears the Mother sigh,
  “Seven are they, and all fatherless!” 1070

  And now is Peter taught to feel
  That man’s heart is a holy thing;
  And Nature, through a world of death,
  Breathes into him a second breath,
  More searching than the breath of spring. 1075

  Upon a stone the Woman sits
  In agony of silent grief—­
  From his own thoughts did Peter start;
  He longs to press her to his heart,
  From love that cannot find relief. 1080

  But roused, as if through every limb
  Had past a sudden shock of dread,
  The Mother o’er the threshold flies,
  And up the cottage stairs [114] she hies,
  And on the pillow lays [115] her burning head. 1085

  And Peter turns his steps aside
  Into a shade of darksome trees,
  Where he sits down, he knows not how,
  With his hands pressed against his brow,
  His elbows on [116] his tremulous knees. 1090

  There, self-involved, does Peter sit
  Until no sign of life he makes,
  As if his mind were sinking deep
  Through years that have been long asleep! 
  The trance is passed away—­he wakes; 1095

  He lifts [117] his head—­and sees the Ass
  Yet standing in the clear moonshine;
  “When shall I be as good as thou? 
  Oh! would, poor beast, that I had now
  A heart but half as good as thine!” 1100

  But He—­who deviously hath sought
  His Father through the lonesome woods,
  Hath sought, proclaiming to the ear
  Of night his grief and sorrowful fear—­[118]
  He comes, escaped from fields and floods;—­1105

  With weary pace is drawing nigh;
  He sees the Ass—­and nothing living
  Had ever such a fit of joy
  As hath [119] this little orphan Boy,
  For he has no misgiving! 1110