Thus I entered, and thus I go!

In triumphs, people have dropped down dead, "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe Me? "--G.o.d might question; now instead, 'Tis G.o.d shall repay: I am safer so. 30

THE BOY AND THE ANGEL

Morning, evening, noon, and night, "Praise G.o.d!" sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he laboured, long and well; O'er his work the boy's curls fell.

But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, "Praise G.o.d!"

Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew. 10

Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done; I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

"As well as if thy voice to-day Were praising G.o.d, the Pope's great way.

"This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome Praises G.o.d from Peter's dome."

Said Theocrite, "Would G.o.d that I Might praise Him that great way, and die!"

Night pa.s.sed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. 20

With G.o.d a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day.

G.o.d said in heaven, "Nor day nor night Now brings the voice of my delight." 24

Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, Spread his wings and sank to earth;

Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well;

And morning, evening, noon, and night, Praised G.o.d in place of Theocrite. 30

And from a boy, to youth he grew: The man put off the stripling's hue:

The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay:

And ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content.

(He did G.o.d's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.)

G.o.d said, "A praise is in mine ear; There is no doubt in it, no fear: 40

"So sing old worlds, and so New worlds that from my footstool go.

"Clearer loves sound other ways: I miss my little human praise."

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery, 50

With his holy vestments dight, Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:

And all his past career Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed;

And in his cell, when death drew near, An angel in a dream brought cheer:

And rising from the sickness drear, He grew a priest, and now stood here. 60

To the East with praise he turned, And on his sight the angel burned.

"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell, And set thee here; I did not well.

"Vainly I left my angel-sphere, Vain was thy dream of many a year,

"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped-- Creation's chorus stopped!

"Go back and praise again The early way, while I remain. 70

"With that weak voice of our disdain, Take up creation's pausing strain.

"Back to the cell and poor employ: Resume the craftsman and the boy!"

Theocrite grew old at home; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.

One vanished as the other died: They sought G.o.d side by side.

MEMORABILIA

Ah, did you once see Sh.e.l.ley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again?

How strange it seems and new!

But you were living before that, And also you are living after; And the memory I started at-- My starting moves your laughter!

I crossed a moor with a name of its own And a certain use in the world, no doubt, 10 Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 'Mid the blank miles round about.