And from the love of God that smiles on us from bright
        lipped flowers,
And from the smile of God that falls in sunlight’s golden showers,
That thrills earth’s slumbering heart so, where its warm rays fall
That it laughs out in beauty, turned he as from tempters all.

From bird-song running morn’s sweet-scented chalice o’er
        with cheer,
The child’s light laughter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near,
From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of
        the golden day,
He counting these temptations all, austerely turned away.

And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone,
Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone
In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear
A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer.

Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross,
A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across,
The clay lips settled into calm—­thus did the monk attest,
A look of one who through much peril enters into rest.

Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master’s face;
But in earth’s lowly places did he strive his steps to trace,
Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous complaint,
There he beheld his Lord—­naked, athirst, and faint.

And when his hand was wet with tears, wrung with a grateful grasp,
He lightly felt upon his palm the Elder Brother’s clasp;
And when above the loathsome couch of woe and want bent he,
A low voice thrilled his soul, “So have ye done it unto Me.”

Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim
The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and name;
To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still,
His mother and his brethren were all who did God’s will

All little ones were dear to him, for light from Paradise
Seemed falling on him through their pure and innocent eyes;
The very flowers that fringed cool streams, and gemmed
        the dewy sod,
To his rapt vision seemed like the visible smiles of God.

The deep’s full heart that throbs unceasing against the silent
        ships,
The waves together murmuring with weird, mysterious lips
To hear their untranslated psalm, drew down his anointed ear,
And listening, lo! he heard God’s voice, to Him was he so near.

The happy hum of bees to him made summer silence sweet,
Not lightly did he view the very grass beneath his feet,
It paved His presence-chamber, where he walked a happy guest,
Ah! slight the veil between, in very truth his life was blest.

And when on a still twilight passed he to the summer land,
Those whom he had befriended, weeping, clinging to his hand,
The west gleamed with a sudden glory, and from out the glow
Trembled the semblance of a crown, and rested on his brow.