Ruth Temple Lindsay

“The Devil, as a roaring lion, goes about seeking whom he may devour.”

The Lion, he prowls far and near,
Nor swerves for pain or rue;
He heeds naught sloth nor fear,
He prowls—prowling through
The silent glade and weary street,
In the empty dark and the full noon heat;
And a little Lamb with aching feet—
He prowls too.

The Lion crouches alert, apart—
With patience does he woo;
He waits long by this shuttered heart,
And the Lamb—He waits too,
Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill,
Through the twisting maze of the great Untrue,
The Lion follows the fainting will—
And the Lamb—He follows too.

From the tickets dim of the hidden way
Where the depths of hell accrue,
The Lion leaps upon his prey:
But the Lamb—He leaps too.
Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn,
Mark Devil and God as goals,
And the panting love of a famished Lamb,
Gone mad with the need of souls.

The Lion, he strays near and far;
What heights hath he left untrod?
He crawls nigh to the purest star,
On the trail of the saints of God.
And throughout the darkness of things unclean,
In the depths were the sin-ghouls brood,
There prowls ever with yearning mind–
A lamp as white as Blood!