The squalid wretchedness of his estate Forgotten, and its utter hopelessness, Was it not blesséd, only thus to lie Ministered to as if he were beloved Of some one, he who long had no one loved! Melted like wax within him was his heart, And when at length they spoke to him, and said, "Thy hands too, if we might too wash thy hands!" And when, he neither yes nor no with word Or sign replying, they, with yes assumed, Did it, assuaging with all healing heed The hurts and bruises of the chafing chains, Then the old man with a convulsive wrench Turned his whole frame averse from them to hide The tears that streamed in rivers from his eyes. "And this they do for love of their Lord Christ!"-- Such muffled words, sobbed out amid his tears And shaken with the throbs that shook his frame, Those women seemed to hear from Shimei's lips. "Lo, Jesus, wilt thou master also me? I cannot bear the pressure of this love! Crushed am I under it into the babe Indeed I dreamed just now I was become!" So Shimei to himself, in words more clear With the abating passion of his sobs, Spoke plaintive with the accents of a child. A start of tears responsive orbed the eyes Of Ruth and Rachel at such token shown Of gracious change in Shimei; grateful tears They were, and hopeful, and each tear a prayer-- How prevalent, who knows?--for Shimei. God, in His lachrymary urn reserved To long remembrance, treasures up such tears!