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 A LEGEND

I

The Monk was preaching: strong his earnest word, From the abundance of his heart he spoke, And the flame spread,—in every soul that heard Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke:— The poor lay Brother, ignorant and old, Thanked God that he had heard such words of gold.

II

"Still let the glory, Lord, be thine alone,"— So prayed the Monk, his heart absorbed in praise: "Thine be the glory: if my hands have sown The harvest ripened in Thy mercy's rays, It was Thy blessing, Lord, that made my word  Bring light and love to every soul that heard.

III

"O Lord, I thank Thee that my feeble strength Has been so blest; that sinful hearts and cold Were melted at my pleading,—knew at length  How sweet Thy service and how safe Thy fold: While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise  Still holier heights of loving sacrifice."

IV

So prayed the Monk: when suddenly he heard An Angel speaking thus: "Know, O my Son, The words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred,