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Dora Sigerson Shorter (Дора Сигерсон Шортер) A Little Dog A little dog disturbed my trust in Heaven. I praised most faithfully All the great things that be, Man’s pain and pleasure even, I said though hard this weighing Of pains and tears and praying He will reward most just. I said your bitter weeping man or maid, Your tears or laughter Shall gain a just Hereafter; Meet you the will of God then unafraid, Gird you to your trials for God’s abode Is open for all sorrow; Live for the great to-morrow. There passed me on the road A little dog with hungry eyes, and sad Thin flesh all shivering, All sore and quivering, Whining beneath the fell disease he had. I hurried home and praised God as before For thus affording To man rewarding, The dog was whining outside my door. I flung it wide, and said, Come enter in, Outcast of God. Beneath His rod You suffer sore, poor beast, that had no sin. Not at my door then must you cry complaining Your lot unjust, But His who thrust You from His door your body maiming. Not mine the pleasure that you bear this pain, Hurled into being Without hope of freeing By grief and patience a soul for any gain. Thus I reproached God while I tended The sores to healing A voice stealing And whispering out of the beast I friended, Said, “God had quickened my flesh, bestowing Joys without measure, Made for its pleasure, An Eden’s garden for ever glowing. Gave me to Man, his care and protection To gain and to give, And bid us so live In united bonds of help and affection. “Man wrecked our garden, so we were hurled Out from the skies Of Paradise Into the sorrows of a weeping world. He forgets my care, I, as God has said, Give still affection For that connection Which into all our bodies life has breathed. “And why are you abusing God, and praising With mock effacement And false abasement Your own heart’s kindness, deeming it amazing That you should do this duty for my sake, Which is His bidding, Nor blame for ridding Himself of me, your neighbour, he who spake hard words, Hard words and drove me forth all sore and ill?” Thus while I tended This dog I friended Gave back my faith in Heaven by God’s will. Dora Sigerson Shorter's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1238 |
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