Page:The Poems of Henry Abbey.djvu/68

 The pearly necklace of her loving arms

She bound on him, and laid her spring-like head

Against the autumn of his cheek, with charms

Of smile and mien; while to his shoulder fled

Her gold, loose hair with flowers like jewels set,

And made thereon a wondrous epaulet.

He seemed more like an angel than a man,

As, father-like, he paid back each caress;

Better than all his deeds in war's red van

Appeared this simple act of tenderness.

The people cried "Huzza!" and did not pause

Until the town seemed shaken with applause.

, in a foreign land,

Went to his studio, and knelt to pray:

Starving and weak, he bowed, hand clasped to hand,

With no more strength to keep the wolf at bay.

Conscience, whose still, small voice grows loud and clear,

Had risen in his heart now sad and drear.

Within the vast cathedral of the night,

The stars, the altar-lamps, their thanks outshine;

Yet he, the artist, from whose soul shone bright

The nobler fire of genius, God's divine

And greatest gift to man, had never cast

One ray of gratitude for mercies past.

"I have been most ungrateful, Lord," he said.

"Bound up in self, I have forgotten Thee;

Yet now, I pray, vouchsafe me this day's bread,

And I will pay of my poor thanks the fee,