"And they heard him cry at Our Lady's shrine: 'All that I am, Madame, all is thine! Again I come with spangle and ball To lay at your altar my little, my all!'" The Shoes of Happiness. But the poor old monks were indignant. They, and some others of more modern days, had never caught the real gist of the "Judge not" of the New Testament; nor had they read Noyes: "How foolish, then, you will agree, Are those who think that all must see The world alike, or those who scorn Another, who perchance, was born Where--in a different dream from theirs-- What they called sins to him are prayers! We cannot judge; we cannot know; All things mingle, all things flow; There's only one thing constant here-- Love--that untranscended sphere: Love, that while all ages run Holds the wheeling worlds in one; Love, that, as your sages tell, Soars to heaven and sinks to hell." The Shoes of Happiness. No, we have no right to judge one another. The monks condemned poor Barnabas because he was not worshiping as they had always worshiped. They too forgot the real spirit of worship as they condemned him: "'Nothing like this do the rules provide! This is scandal, this is a shame, This madcap prank in Our Lady's name. Out of the doors with him; back to the street: He has no place at Our Lady's feet!'" The Shoes of Happiness. However, then, as now, men are not the final judges: "But why do the elders suddenly quake, Their eyes a-stare and their knees a-shake? Down from the rafters arching high, Her blowing mantle blue with the sky-- Lightly down from the dark descends The Lady of Beauty and lightly bends Over Barnabas stretched in the altar place, And wipes the dew from his shining face; Then touching his hair with a look of light, Passes again from the mortal sight. An odor of lilies hallows the air, And sounds as of harpings are everywhere. "'Ah,' cry the elders, beating the breast, 'So the lowly deed is the lofty test! And whatever is done from the heart to Him Is done from the height of the Seraphim!'" The Shoes of Happiness. "HOW THE GREAT GUEST CAME" A STUDY OF COMPLETE HAPPINESS IN SERVICE I have never found a poem which more truly pictures the Christ and how he comes to human beings than this one of Markham's. Conrad the cobbler had a dream, when he had grown old, that the Master would come "His guest to be." He arose at dawn on that day of great expectations, decorated his simple shop with boughs of green and waited: