At dawn he marks the smoke among the trees,
From hearths to which his daily footsteps go;
And hopes, and fears, and ponders on his knees,
If his poor sheep will heed his voice or no;
What wholesome turn will Ailsie’s sorrow take?
Her latest sin will careless Annie rue?
Will Robin now, at last, his wiles forsake?
Meet his old dupes, yet hold his balance true?
He prays at noon with all the warmth of heaven
About his heart, that each may he forgiven;
He prays at eve; and through the midnight air
Sends holy ventures to the throne above;
His very dreams are faithful to his prayer,
And follow, with closed eyes, the path of love.