We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing; The breeze comes whispering in our ear That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; From "Part First." As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate; And a loathing over Sir Launfal came; The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, And midway its leap his heart stood still Like a frozen waterfall; For this man, so foul and bent of stature, Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. The leper raised not the gold from the dust: 66 Better to me the poor man's crust, Better the blessing of the poor, Though I turn me empty from his door; That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; He gives nothing but worthless gold Who gives from a sense of duty; But he who gives a slender mite, And gives to that which is out of sight, From "Part Second." Sir Launfal said: "I behold in thee An image of Him who died on the tree ; Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side: Behold, through him, I give to Thee!" Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he Remembered in what a haughtier guise When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. As Sir Launfal mused with downcast face, A light shone round about the place; The leper no longer crouched at his side, Shining and tall and fair and straight As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, Enter the temple of God in man. His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, Which mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; And the voice that was calmer than silence said: "Lo, it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail; In whatso we share with another's need; FROM "MY LOVE." She doeth little kindnesses, Which most leave undone, or despise : She hath no scorn of common things, To tread the humble paths of earth. Samuel Longfellow. 1819. LOOKING UNTO GOD. "God's hand in all things, and all things in God's hand." I look to Thee in every need, And never look in vain ; I feel Thy touch, Eternal Love, The thought of Thee is mightier far Discouraged in the work of life, But let me only think of Thee, And then new heart springs up in me. Thy calmness bends serene above, My restlessness to still; To nerve my faltering will; Embosomed deep in Thy dear love, |