So Arnulph to his chamber went, and prayed
That in his doubts the Lord would send him aid.
And, in a vision of the silent night,
A phantom stood before him, clothed in white,—
A form for earth too beautiful and grand,
With crimson roses blooming in each hand.
And Arnulph asked the angel, "Are these flowers
Fresh culled from Eden's amaranthine bowers?"
He answered, "Nay: these offerings are from all
Whom God the doers of his will doth call."
"And can I offer nothing?" sighed the boy.
"May I not also serve the Lord with joy?"
"Surely thou mayest," replied that seraph fair,—
"In my left hand, behold, thy gift I bear."
Then Arnulph said, "I pray thee, tell me why,
In thy left hand the flowers all scentless lie,
But in the right they breathe a gracious smell,
Which long within the haunted sense doth dwell?"
The angel answered with pathetic tone,—
"In my left hand I bear the gifts alone
Of those who worship God the Sire above,
But for his children testify no love;
While these sweet roses, which ne'er grow wan,
Come from the lovers of both God and man."
The vision faded. Arnulph cried, "Alas!
My soul was blind!" And so it came to pass,
That the changed boy a cloister entered not,
But with God's working-men took part and lot.
A LOST CHILD.
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"
Poor little frightened baby!
The wind had tossed her golden fleece,
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;
I stooped, and lifted her with ease,
And softly whispered, "Maybe."