Where'er he faced,
The people round him pressed--the sick, the blind,
Young mothers sad because a babe was pale;
Likewise the wives of fishers, praying loud
Their husbands' safe return. Rejoiced he was
To see them, hear them, touch them; wearied never:
Whate'er they said delighted still he heard:
The rise and fall of empires touched him less,
The book rich-blazoned, or the high-towered church:
'We have,' he said, 'God's children, and their God:
The rest is fancy's work.' Him too they loved;
Loved him the more because, so great and wise,
He stumbled oft in trifles. Once he said,
'How well those pine-trees shield the lamb from wind!'
A smile ran round; at last the boldest spake,
'Father, these are not pine-trees--these are oaks.'
And Cuthbert answered, 'Oaks, good sooth, they are!
In youth I knew the twain apart: the pine
Wears on his head the Cross.' Instruction next
He gave them, how the Cross had vanquished sin:
Then first abstruse to some appeared his words.
'Father,' they answered, 'speak in parables!
For pleasant is the tale, and, onward passed,
Keeps in our hearts thy lesson.'
While they spake,
A youth rich-vested tossed his head and cried:
'Father, why thus converse with untaught hinds?
Their life is but the life of gnats and flies:
They think but of the hour. Behold yon church!
I reared it both for reverence of thy Christ,
And likewise that through ages yet to come
My name might live in honour!' At that word
Cuthbert made answer: 'Hear the parable!
My people craved for such.
A monk there lived
Holiest of men reputed. He was first
On winter mornings in the freezing stall;
Meekest when chidden; fervent most in prayer:
And, late in life, when heresies arose,
That book he wrote, like tempest winged from God,
Drave them to darkness back. Grey-haired he died;
With honour was interred. The years went by;
His grave they opened. Peacefully he slept,
Unchanged, the smile of death upon his lips:
O'er the right hand alone, for so it seemed,
Had Death retained his power: five little lines,
White ashes, showed where once the fingers lay.
All saw it--simple, learned, rich and poor:
None might divine the cause. That night, behold!
A Saintly Shape beside the ab