Confess small sins and chant a praise and sing that He is love;
While coats of softly furred things upon their shoulders lie—
Of timid things, of tortured things, that take so long to die…
‘Tis strange to hear the organ peal—“have mercy on us, Lord,”
The benediction — “peace to all” — they bow with one accord
While from stained windows fall the lights on furs so softly warm,
Of timid things, of little things, that died in cold and storm.
Once, in a moment of great generosity,
God has shown to me
A leopard running free
How then could He expect of me,
Born without His tolerance, calmly to see
Those women, those bloody awful women,
Dressed up in leopard skins, sitting down to tea.
To A Fur
The steel jaws clamped and held him fast,
None marked his fright, none heard his cries.
His struggles ceased; he lay at last
With wide, uncomprehending eyes,
And watched the sky grow dark above
And watched the sunset turn to grey,
And quaked in anguish while he strove
To gnaw the prisoned leg away.
The day came rosy from the east,
But still the steel jaws kept their hold,
And no one watched the prisoned beast,
But fear and hunger, thirst, and cold.
Oppressed by pain his dread grew numb,
Fright no more stirred his flagging breath.
He longed, in vain, to see him come
The cruel hunter, bringing death.
Then through the gloom that night came One
Who set the timid spirit free:
“I know thine anguish, little son;
So once men held and tortured Me.”
F. F. Van de Water
All night long, gnaw and gnaw,
Come with me, lady, see what I saw.
Only a beaver suffering pain.
God! Take that sound out of my brain.
A thing of the wilds — who cares how it dies?
God! Take that sight out of my eyes.