When the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Summoned him to feed the poor.
Through the long hour intervening
It had waited his return,

And he felt his bosom burn,
Comprehending all the meaning,
When the Blessed Vision said,
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!"

85

"HE FELL AMONG THIEVES"

HENRY NEWBOLT

"Ye have robbed," said he, "ye have slaughtered and made an end;

Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead:

What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend?” "Blood for our blood," they said.

He laughed: "If one may settle the score for five
I am ready; but let the reckoning stand till day:
I have loved the sunlight as dearly as any alive.”
"You shall die at dawn," said they.

He flung his empty revolver down the slope;

He climbed alone to the eastward edge of the trees; All night long in a dream untroubled of hope

He brooded, clasping his knees.

He did not hear the monotonous roar that fills
The ravine where the Yassin River sullenly flows;
He did not see the starlight on the Laspur hills,
Or far Afghan snows.

He saw the April on his books aglow,

The wistaria trailing in at the window wide;

He heard his father's voice from the terrace below
Calling him down to ride.

He saw the gray little church across the park,

The mounds that hide the loved and honored dead; The Norman arch, the chancel softly dark,

The brasses black and red.1

He saw the School Close,2 sunny and green,

The runner beside him, the stand by the parapet wall, The distant tape, and the crowd roaring between His own name over all.

He saw the dark wainscot and timbered roof,

The long tables, and the faces merry and keen; The College Eight and their trainer dining aloof, The Dons 3 on the dais serene.

He watched the liner's stem plowing the foam,

He felt her trembling speed and the thrash of her screw; He heard her passengers' voices talking of home,

He saw the flag she flew.

And now it was dawn. He rose strong on his feet,
And strode to his ruined camp below the wood:
He drank the breath of the morning cool and sweet;
His murderers round him stood.

Light on the Laspur hills was broadening fast,

The blood-red snow-peaks chilled to a dazzling white; He turned, and saw the golden circle at last,

Cut by the Eastern height.

1. Brasses. Brass memorial tablets.
2 School close. Athletic field.
3. Dons. The college professors.

"O glorious Life, Who dwellest in earth and sun, I have lived, I praise and adore Thee."

A sword swept.

Over the pass the voices one by one
Faded, and the hill slept.

86

THE BOY AND THE ANGEL1

ROBERT BROWNING

Morning, evening, noon and night,
"Praise God!" sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he labored, long and well;
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.

Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;

I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

"As well as if thy voice today

Were praising God, the Pope's great way.

1. Browning is fond of the idea that "all service ranks the same with God." In this story the simple, loving praise of little Theocrite, the craftsman, is even sweeter than praise from the Pope himself.

"This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome

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.

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,
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.

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,
And ever 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 mine ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear:

"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 The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,

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,
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.

To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.