Where men have toiled and sinned and laughed and wept
For thrice a thousand years.
Another voice is stilled of those that cry
In that sad wilderness
Proclaiming to the weary sons of men
"The Kingdom is at hand!"
Then one who loved him stood beside his grave
And saw its roughness clothed
With that same beauty which the Master praised.
For over all the mound,
Their pink bells open wide to greet the day,
Wild morning-glories blew.
So, blessed with eyes that see, his friend took cheer
From Nature's parable.
For even so he lived and wrought among
The lowliest of the low,
Men saw him leave the ways that lead to ease
And consecrate his all.
Some called him mad because he chose to toil
Among the mean and poor;
Nor did they reck that in those sordid souls
He saw God's starving sheep.
They did not care that, leaving all, he trod
The foot-steps of his Lord.
No narrow zealot he. His nature stood
Four-square to all the world.
With kindly ear the peasant's tale he heard,
He wept with those that wept;
Anon with gownèd pedant held discourse
Concerning sage's lore.
The offices of hospitality
It was his joy to do.
He was a man,—knightly among the knights
Of this, the Last Crusade.
Upon his shield were blazoned ancient words;
"All things to all,—to save."
From midst of labors for the souls of men
God called him swiftly home.
He knew no lingering pain. High on the breast
Of China's sacred Mount
Where Yao and Shun uplifted reverent hands
In the dim days of old,
Amidst the mid-night crash of elements,
His noble spirit passed.
And thus, in deathless joy, the man who walked
The humble path of love
Inhabiteth henceforward with his Lord
God's Morning-glory Land.
