With gradual influx into his old heart Solace of Christian hope. With Dichu bode Patrick somewhile, intent from him to learn The inmost of that people. Oft they spake Of Milcho. “Once his thrall, against my will In earthly things I served him: for his soul Needs therefore must I labour. Hard was he; Unlike those hearts to which God’s Truth makes way Like message from a mother in her grave: Yet what I can I must. Not heaven itself Can force belief; for Faith is still good will.” Dichu laughed aloud: “Good will! Milcho’s good will Neither to others, nor himself, good will Hath Milcho! Fireless sits he, winter through, The logs beside his hearth: and as on them Glimmers the rime, so glimmers on his face The smile. Convert him! Better thrice to hang him! Baptise him! He will film your font with ice! The cold of Milcho’s heart has winter-nipt That glen he dwells in! From the sea it slopes Unfinished, savage, like some nightmare dream, Raked by an endless east wind of its own. On wolf’s milk was he suckled not on woman’s! To Milcho speed! Of Milcho claim belief! Milcho will shrivel his small eye and say He scorns to trust himself his father’s son, Nor deems his lands his own by right of race But clutched by stress of brain! Old Milcho’s God Is gold. Forbear him, sir, or ere you seek him Make smooth your way with gold.” Thus Dichu spake; And Patrick, after musings long, replied: “Faith is no gift that gold begets or feeds, Oftener by gold extinguished. Unto God, Unbribed, unpurchased, yearns the soul of man; Yet finds perforce in God its great reward. Not less this Milcho deems I did him wrong, His slave, yet fleeing. To requite that loss Gifts will I send him first by messengers Ere yet I see his face.” Then Patrick sent His messengers to Milcho, speaking thus: “If ill befell thy herds through flight of mine Fourfold that loss requite I, lest, for hate Of me, thou disesteem my Master’s Word. Likewise I sue thy friendship; and I come In few days’ space, with gift of other gold Than earth concedes, the Tidings of that God Who made all worlds, and late His Face hath shown, Sun-like to man. But thou, rejoice in hope!” Thus Patrick, once by man advised in part, Though wont to counsel with his God alone.