He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save. br So rang Tertullian's sentence, on the side br Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect which cried: br 'Him can no fount of fresh forgiveness lave, br br Who sins, once washed by the baptismal wave.'-- br So spake the fierce Tertullian. But she sighed, br The infant Church! of love she felt the tide br Stream on her from her Lord's yet recent grave. br br And then she smiled; and in the Catacombs, br With eye suffused but heart inspired true, br On those walls subterranean, where she hid br br Her head in ignominy, death, and tombs, br She her good Shepherd's hasty image drew-- br And on his shoulders, not a lamb, a kid.