OUTCAST, a horror to his kind, 
 At night he to the forest fled. 
There, the birch-bark made fire for him, 
 The brown fern made a bed. 
 
The river murmured lullaby, 
The moisty mosses breathed of balm, 
The clean stars carried light to him, 
 Unterrified and calm. 
 
Aye, as they would have served a saint 
Freely all served the guilty guest. 
They only saw their Father?s son, 
 And brought their brother rest.