THE MOVEMENT ‘HE SHALL FEED HIS FLOCK’ FROM THE MESSIAH

You bought me rest from wind and hail.

I lay my head on the balcony rail.

Crickets are seething all around.

I lay my head on the sunny ground.

Your death’s at peace — it’s dead and gone.

I lay my head in bed at home.

Then why, at rest, where I might sleep,

Must I now hold my head and weep?

— Sarah Ruden

This poem appears in the April 20, 2015, print issue of National Review.