The black-hair'd gaunt Paulinus
By ruddy Edwin stood:—
‘ Bow down, O King of Deira,
Before the holy Rood!
Cast forth thy demon idols,
And worship Christ our Lord!’
— But Edwin look'd and ponder'd,
And answer'd not a word.
Again the gaunt Paulinus
To ruddy Edwin spake:
‘ God offers life immortal
For His dear Son's own sake!
Wilt thou not hear his message
Who bears the Keys and Sword?’
— But Edwin look'd and ponder'd,
And answer'd not a word.
Rose then a sage old warrior;
Was five-score winters old;
Whose beard from chin to girdle
Like one long snow-wreath roll'd:—
‘ At Yule-time in our chamber
We sit in warmth and light,
While cavern-black around us
Lies the grim mouth of Night.
‘ Athwart the room a sparrow
Darts from the open door:
Within the happy hearth-light
One red flash,— and no more!
We see it born from darkness,
And into darkness go:—
So is our life, King Edwin!
Ah, that it should be so!
‘ But if this pale Paulinus
Have somewhat more to tell;
Some news of whence and whither,
And where the Soul may dwell:—
If on that outer darkness
The sun of Hope may shine;—
He makes life worth the living!
I take his God for mine!’
So spake the wise old warrior;
And all about him cried
‘ Paulinus’ God hath conquer'd!
And he shall he our guide:—
For he makes life worth living,
Who brings this message plain,—
When our brief days are over,
That we shall live again.’