He paused, and, looking right and left, beheld Dirt and decay, the lowering tenements That leaned toward each other; broken panes Bulging with rags, and grim with old neglect; And reeking hills of formless refuse, heaped To fade and fester in a stagnant air. But he thought nothing of it: he had learned To take all wretchedness for granted,--he, Reared in a stainless home, and radiant yet With the clear hues of healthful English youth, Had learned to kneel by beds forlorn, and stoop Under foul lintels. He could touch, with hand Unshrinking, fevered fingers; he could hear The language of the lost, in haunt and den,-- So dismal, that the coldest passer-by Must needs be sorry for them, and, albeit They cursed, would dare to speak no harder words Than these,--"God help them!" Ay! a learned man The curate in all woes that plague mankind,-- Too learned, for he was but young. His heart Had yearned till it was overstrained, and now He--plunged into a narrow slough unblest, Had struggled with its deadly waters, till His own head had gone under, and he took Small joy in work he could not look to aid Its cleansing. Yet, by one right tender tie, Hope held him yet. The fathers coarse and dull, Vile mothers hard, and boys and girls profane, His soul drew back from. He had worked for them,-- Work without joy: but, in his heart of hearts, He loved the little children; and whene'er He heard their prattle innocent, and heard Their tender voices lisping sacred words That he had taught them,--in the cleanly calm Of decent school, by decent matron held,-- Then would he say, "I shall have pleasure yet, In these." But now, when he pushed back that door And mounted up a flight of ruined stairs, He said not that. He said, "Oh! once I thought The little children would make bright for me The crown they wear who have won many souls For righteousness; but oh, this evil place! Hard lines it gives them, cold and dirt abhorred,-- Hunger and nakedness, in lieu of love, And blows instead of care. "And so they die, The little children that I love,--they die,--They turn their wistful faces to the wall, And slip away to God." With that, his hand He laid upon a latch and lifted it, Looked in full quietly, and entered straight.