THERE’S a pasture in a valley where the hanging woods divide.
?And a Herd lies down and ruminates in peace;
Where the pheasant rules the nooning, and the owl the twilight tide.
?And the war-cries of our world die out and cease.
Here I cast aside the burden that each weary week-day brings
?And, delivered from the shadows I pursue.
On peaceful, postless Sabbaths I consider Weighty Things —
?Such as Sussex Cattle feeding in the dew!
At the gate beside the river where the trouty shallows brawl.
?I know the pride that Lobengula felt.
When he bade the bars be lowered of the Royal Cattle Kraal.
?And fifteen mile of oxen took the veldt.
From the walls of Bulawayo in unbroken file they came
?To where the Mount of Council cuts the blue . . .
I have only six and twenty, but the principle’s the same
?With my Sussex Cattle feeding in the dew!
To a luscious sound of tearing, where the clovered herbage rips.
?Level-backed and level-bellied watch ’em move —
See those shoulders, guess that heart-girth, praise those loins, admire those hips.
?And the tail set low for flesh to make above!
Count the b............