What had he to do with the thing that was done,--done with, and gone, either into the treasury or the lumber-room, of creation? Towards the hills of help he turned his face--to the summits over whose tops he looked for the dayspring from on high to break forth. If only Christ would come to him!--Do what he might, however, his thoughts WOULD wander back to the great gothic gulf into which he had been pouring out his soul, and the greater human gulfs that opened into the ancient pile, whose mouths were the faces that hid the floor beneath them--until at length he was altogether vexed with himself for being interested in what he had done, instead of absorbed in what he had yet to do. He left therefore his chamber, and placed himself at a side-table in his sitting-room, while his landlady prepared the other for his dinner. She too had been at church that morning, whence it came that she moved about and set the things on the table with unusual softness, causing him no interruption while he wrote down a line here and there of what afterwards grew into the following verses--born in the effort to forget the things that were behind, and reach forth after the things that lay before him. Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find A little faith on earth, if I am here! Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind, How sad I wait until thy face appear! Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, And from it gathered many stones and sherds? Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds. I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years, And I have never seen thee with mine eyes. And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, See, all about me has so strange a show! Is that thy river running down the vale? Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow? Couldst thou right verily appear again, The same who walked the paths of Palestine, And here in England teach thy trusting men, In church and field and house, with word and sign? Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest!-- My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, And sends them forth to do what thou dost say. CHAPTER XV. CRITICISM. "Extraordinary young man!" exclaimed Mrs. Ramshorn as they left the church, with a sigh that expressed despair. "Is he an infidel or a fanatic? a Jesuit or a Socinian?"