All mire-bedraggled, of my tattered robe,
Caused me to turn: I saw a fair young face,
Sweet even as hers who loved me in her youth
She whom I now, for the first time, forgave
For wrongs inflicted on my trusting heart.
but unlike; lovely- yet not so fair;
And at my miserable feet she knelt
To crave my blessing: Blessing! and from me?
From me, the vilest, meanest of mankind?'
'Ay, and from thee!' she said; we know thee well;
Thou hast long suffered thou'rt a saint of God.'
And all the people, gathering round about,
Joined in her supplication; kneeling down,
To crave my blessing- not in mockery,
But with deep reverence. Strange it seemed that I,
Who had not known for spanless gulfs of time
What blessing meant, should have the power to bless.
I could but bless her; for I felt my heart
Glow with dear memories forgotten long,
Brought back upon me by her mild sweet face.
The burden of my long-enduring pain
Was lightened by that pity, and I wept ;
And every tear I shed became to me
Relief and joy, as, with an earnest voice,
I blessed the people, showing them the while
My own unworthiness more great than theirs;
Unmeet my lips to utter words of peace,
Who long had cursed myself and all my kind.
And now the hoary portals opening wide,
Forth issued an array of robèd priests,
In white and scarlet; boys with censers, flung
Rich incense in the air; while others hymned,
With sweet clear voice,' Hosanna to the Lord.'
And all the people knelt, and with them I.
The solemn music filled the pliant air,
And a religious sense was wafted round,
Sense superadded, and unfelt before.
I could not rise: my cramped and weary joints
Seemed bloodless as the stones on which I knelt;
And the procession and the people passed,
In all their gorgeousness; and I was left
To my own strength, to follow if I list,
Or lie upon the pavement and expire.
I rose.
I felt within my secret soul
More peace than had been mine since the great curse
Was spoken by the Presence for my sin.
But as I could not stay to be a saint,
And bear the flattery of the ignorant,
With a new courage I endued my heart,
And prayed for strength, and went upon my way.
Here am I now. In thy serene abode
I've gained new comfort from thy reverend lips,
And learned the secret of my destiny.
'Twas thou that taught me from the blessed Book
That God was Love; and that those served Him best
Who loved their fellows, and obeyed the law
Sublime but easy, preached by Him who died
To seal his doctrine by his guiltless blood.
I have not long to live. My race is run: I would live longer, were it but to preach To other souls as wretched as my own,
The mighty truth, that God is Love indeed,
But feel within me that mine hour is come.
I shall not see the morning dawn again :
My sin is pardoned- I shall die in peace.
Bury me by myself— under a cross,
And put a fair white tombstone o'er my grave.
Place on it name, nor date, nor words, save these:
‘He learned in suffering that God was Love,
And died in hope.' Bear with me for a while;
I shall not die ere I have slept an hour.
Mine eyes are weary: let me close them now;
I shall awake to bless thee and depart.
Visions of glory throng upon my soul:
Brother, farewell. I'll see thee yet again,
Here and hereafter. Let me slumber now.
THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS.
A LITTLE child, beneath a tree
Sat and chanted cheerily
A little song, a pleasant song,
Which was she sang it all day long — 'When the wind blows the blossoms fall; But a good God reigns over all.'
There passed a lady by the way,
Moaning in the face of day:
There were tears upon her cheek,
Grief in her heart too great to speak;
Her husband died but yester-morn,
And left her in the world forlorn.
She stopped and listened to the child
That looked to heaven, and singing, smiled;
And saw not for her own despair,
Another lady, young and fair,
Who also passing, stopped to hear
The infant's anthem ringing clear.
For she but few sad days before
Had lost the little babe she bore;
And grief was heavy at her soul
As that sweet memory o'er her stole,
And showed how bright had been the Past,
The Present drear and overcast.
And as they stood beneath the tree
Listening, soothed and placidly,
A youth came by, whose sunken eyes
Spake of a load of miseries;
And he, arrested like the twain,
Stopped to listen to the strain.
Death had bowed the youthful head
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed:
Her marriage robes were fitted on,
Her fair young face with blushes shone,
When the destroyer smote her low,
And changed the lover's bliss to woe.
And these three listened to the song,
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,
Which that child, the livelong day,
Chanted to itself in play:
When the wind blows the blossoms fall, But a good God reigns over all.'
The widow's lips impulsive moved;
The mother's grief, tho' unreproved,
Softened, as her trembling tongue
Repeated what the infant sung;
And the sad lover, with a start,
Conned it over to his heart.
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