| |
| MORNING, evening, noon, and night, | |
| “Praise God!” sang Theocrite. | |
| |
| Then to his poor trade he turned, | |
| Whereby the daily meal was earned. | |
| |
| Hard he laboured, long and well; | 5 |
| O’er his work the boy’s curls fell. | |
| |
| But ever at each period, | |
| He stopped and sang, “Praise God.” | |
| |
| 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 God, the Pope’s great way. | |
| |
| “This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome | 15 |
| Praises God from Peter’s Dome.” | |
| |
| Said Theocrite, “Would God that I | |
| Might praise him that great way, and die!” | |
| |
| Night passed, day shone, | |
| And Theocrite was gone. | 20 |
| |
| With God a day endures alway, | |
| A thousand years are but a day. | |
| |
| God said in heaven, “Nor day, nor night, | |
| Now brings the voice of my delight.” | |
| |
| Then Gabriel, like a rainbow’s birth, | 25 |
| 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 God 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, | 35 |
| And lived on earth content. | |
| |
| (He did God’s will; to him, all one | |
| If on the earth or in the sun.) | |
| |
| God said, “A praise is in my 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 | 45 |
| The flesh disguise, remained the cell. | |
| |
| ’Twas Easter day; he flew to Rome, | |
| And paused above St 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, | 55 |
| 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, | 65 |
| 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; | 75 |
| A new Pope dwelt in Peter’s Dome. | |
| |
| One vanished as the other died: | |
| They sought God side by side. | |
| |
