OUTCAST, a horror to his kind, <br /> At night he to the forest fled. <br />There, the birch-bark made fire for him, <br /> The brown fern made a bed. <br /> <br />The river murmured lullaby, <br />The moisty mosses breathed of balm, <br />The clean stars carried light to him, <br /> Unterrified and calm. <br /> <br />Aye, as they would have served a saint <br />Freely all served the guilty guest. <br />They only saw their Father’s son, <br /> And brought their brother rest.<br /><br />Blanche Edith Baughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-just-and-the-unjust/
