Then he looked well upon them, as he stood Upright before them. They were feathered doves, And sitting close together; and their eyes Were rounded with the rim that marks their kind. Their tender crimson feet did pat the beam,-- No phantoms they; and soon the fellow-dove Made answer, "Nay they count themselves so wise, There is no task they shall be set to do But they will ask God why. What mean they so? The glory is not in the task, but in The doing it for Him. What should he think, Brother, this man that must, forsooth, be set Such noble work, and suffered to behold Its fruit, if he knew more of us and ours?" With that the other leaned, as if attent: "I am not perfect, brother, in his thought." The mystic bird replied. "Brother, he saith, 'But it is nought: the work is overhard.' Whose fault is that? God sets not overwork. He saith the world is sorrowful, and he Is therefore sorrowful. He cannot set The crooked straight;--but who demands of him, O brother, that he should? What! thinks he, then, His work is God's advantage, and his will More bent to aid the world than its dread Lord's? Nay, yet there live amongst us legions fair, Millions on millions, who could do right well What he must fail in; and 'twas whispered me, That chiefly for himself the task is given,-- His little daily task." With that he paused. Then said the other, preening its fair wing, "Men have discovered all God's islands now, And given them names; whereof they are as proud, And deem themselves as great, as if their hands Had made them. Strange is man, and strange his pride. Now, as for us, it matters not to learn What and from whence we be: How should we tell? Our world is undiscovered in these skies, Our names not whispered. Yet, for us and ours, What joy it is,--permission to come down, Not souls, as he, to the bosom of their God, To guide, but to their goal the winged fowls, His lovely lower-fashioned lives to help To take their forms by legions, fly, and draw With us the sweet, obedient, flocking things That ever hear our message reverently, And follow us far. How should they know their way, Forsooth, alone? Men say they fly alone; Yet some have set on record, and averred, That they, among the flocks, had duly marked A leader." Then his fellow made reply: "They might divine the Maker's heart. Come forth, Fair dove, to find the flocks, and guide their wings, For Him that loveth them." With that, the child Withdrew his hand, and all their speech was done. He moved toward them, but they fluttered forth And fled into the sunshine. "I would fain," Said he, "have heard some more. And wilt thou go?" He added to the child, for this had turned. "Ay," quoth he, gently, "to the beggar's place; For I would see the beggar in the porch."