Who broods above a wrong in thought Sins much; but greater sin is his Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, Shall count the holy alms as nought. Who dares to curse the hands that bless Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; The patience of the heavens is lost Beholding man's unthankfulness. For he who breaks all laws may still In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; But none can save, in earth or heaven, The wretch who answers good with ill. 1877. THE VISION OF ECHARD. The Benedictine Echard Sat by the wayside well, Where Marsberg sees the bridal Of the Sarre and the Moselle. Fair with its sloping vineyards And tawny chestnut bloom, The happy vale Ausonius sunk For holy Treves made room. On the shrine Helena builded To keep the Christ coat well, On minster tower and kloster cross, The westering sunshine fell. There, where the rock-hewn circles O'erlooked the Roman's game, The veil of sleep fell on him, And his thought a dream became. He felt the heart of silence Throb with a soundless word, And by the inward ear alone A spirit's voice he heard. And the spoken word seemed written On air and wave and sod, And the bending walls of sapphire Blazed with the thought of God. "What lack I, O my children? All things are in my band; The vast earth and the awful stars I hold as grains of sand. "Need I your alms? The silver And gold are mine alone; The gifts ye bring before me Were evermore my own. "Heed I the noise of viols, Your pomp of masque and show? Have I not dawns and sunsets Have I not winds that blow? "Do I smell your gums of incense? Is my ear with chantings fed? Taste I your wine of worship, Or eat your holy bread? "Of rank and name and honors Am I vain as ye are vain? What can Eternal Fulness From your lip-service gain? "Ye make me not your debtor Who serve yourselves alone; Ye boast to me of homage Whose gain is all your own. "For you I gave the prophets, For you the Psalmist's lay For you the law's stone tables, And holy book and day. "Ye change to weary burdens The helps that should uplift; Ye lose in form the spirit, The Giver in the gift. "Who called ye to self-torment, To fast and penance vain? Dream ye Eternal Goodness Has joy in mortal pain? "For the death in life of Nitria, For your Chartreuse ever dumb, What better is the neighbor, Or happier the home? "Who counts his brother's welfare As sacred as his own, And loves, forgives, and pities, He serveth me alone. "I note each gracious purpose, Each kindly word and deed; Are ye not all my children? Shall not the Father heed? "No prayer for light and guidance Is lost upon mine ear The child's cry in the darkness Shall not the Father hear? "I loathe your wrangling councils, I tread upon your creeds; Who made ye mine avengers, Or told ye of my needs; "I bless men and ye curse them, I love them and ye hate; Ye bite and tear each other, I suffer long and wait. "Ye bow to ghastly symbols, To cross and scourge and thorn; Ye seek his Syrian manger Who in the heart is born.