XV.

Then out beneath the noon-day sun Of the old Temple, cool and dim, She walked beside her chosen one, And lost her loneliness in him;

But hardly was her walk begun When, straight before her in the street, With tender shock her eye descried A little child, with naked feet

And scanty dress, that, hollow-eyed, Looked up and begged for bread to eat. Nor pride of place nor dainty spleen Felt with her heart the sickening shock.

She took the hand so soiled and lean; And silken robe and ragged frock Moved side by side across the green. She looked for love, and, low and wild,

She found it — looking, too, for love! So in each other's eyes they smiled, As, dark brown hand in snowy glove, The bride led home the hungry child.

And men and women in amaze Paused in their homeward steps to see The bride retreating from their gaze, Clasped hand in hand with misery;

Then brushed their eyes, and went their ways. When the long parley found a close, And, clean and kempt, the little oaf — Disburdened of her wants and woes,

And burdened with her wheaten loaf — Went forth to minister to those Who sent her on her bitter quest, The bride stood smiling at her door,

And in her happiness confessed That she had found a friend; nay, more — Had entertained a heavenly guest. And as she watched her down the street,

With brow grown bright with sunny thought, And heart o'erfilled with something sweet, She knew the vagrant child had brought The blessing of the Paraclete.

She turned from out the blazing noon, And sought her chamber's quiet shade, Like one who had received a boon She might not show, but which essayed

Expression in a happy croon. And then, outleaping from the mesh Of Memory's net, like bird or bee, There thrilled her spirit and her flesh

This old half-song, half-rhapsody, That sang, or said itself, afresh: “Poor little wafer of silver! More precious to me than its cost!

It was worn of both image and legend, But priceless because it was lost. My chamber I carefully swept; I hunted, and wondered, and wept;

And I found it at last with a cry: “Oh dear little jewel!” said I; And I washed it with tears all the day; Then I kissed it, and put it away.

“Poor little lamb of the sheepfold! Unlovely and feeble it grew; But it wandered away to the mountains, And was fairer the further it flew.

I followed with hurrying feet At the call of its pitiful bleat, And precious, with wonderful charms, I caught it at last in my arms,

And bore it far back to its keep, And kissed it and put it to sleep. “Poor little vagrant from Heaven! It wandered away from the fold,

And its weakness and danger endowed it With value more precious than gold. Oh happy the day when it came, And my heart learned its beautiful name!

Oh happy the hour when I fed This waif of the angels with bread! And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed Was sheltered and nourished and kissed!”