So, entering with a changed and cheerful step The city gates, he saw, far down the street, A mighty shadow break the light of noon, Which tracing backward till its airy lines Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes O'er broad facade and lofty pediment, O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche, Up the stone lace-work chiselled by the wise Erwin of Steinbach, dizzily up to where In the noon-brightness the great Minster's tower, Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown, Rose like a visible prayer. "Behold!" he said, "The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes. As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top, So, darkness in the pathway of Man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence, By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon; And what is dark below is light in Heaven." 1853. THE HERMIT OF THE THEBAID. O STRONG, upwelling prayers of faith, From inmost founts of life ye start,-- The spirit's pulse, the vital breath Of soul and heart! From pastoral toil, from traffic's din, Alone, in crowds, at home, abroad, Unheard of man, ye enter in The ear of God. Ye brook no forced and measured tasks, Nor weary rote, nor formal chains; The simple heart, that freely asks In love, obtains. For man the living temple is The mercy-seat and cherubim, And all the holy mysteries, He bears with him. And most avails the prayer of love, Which, wordless, shapes itself in needs, And wearies Heaven for naught above Our common needs. Which brings to God's all-perfect will That trust of His undoubting child Whereby all seeming good and ill Are reconciled. And, seeking not for special signs Of favor, is content to fall Within the providence which shines And rains on all. Alone, the Thebaid hermit leaned At noontime o'er the sacred word. Was it an angel or a fiend Whose voice be heard? It broke the desert's hush of awe, A human utterance, sweet and mild; And, looking up, the hermit saw A little child. A child, with wonder-widened eyes, O'erawed and troubled by the sight Of hot, red sands, and brazen skies, And anchorite. "'What dost thou here, poor man? No shade Of cool, green palms, nor grass, nor well, Nor corn, nor vines." The hermit said "With God I dwell. "Alone with Him in this great calm, I live not by the outward sense; My Nile his love, my sheltering palm His providence." The child gazed round him. "Does God live Here only?--where the desert's rim Is green with corn, at morn and eve, We pray to Him. "My brother tills beside the Nile His little field; beneath the leaves My sisters sit and spin, the while My mother weaves. "And when the millet's ripe heads fall, And all the bean-field hangs in pod, My mother smiles, and, says that all Are gifts from God." Adown the hermit's wasted cheeks Glistened the flow of human tears; "Dear Lord!" he said, "Thy angel speaks, Thy servant hears."