with cheer,
The child's light laughter, lifting lowliest souls heaven near,
From tears and glad smiles, linked light and gloom of
the golden day,
He counting these temptations all, austerely turned away.

And thus he lived alone, unblest, and died unblest, alone,
Save for a brother monk, who held the carved cross of stone
In his cold, rigid clasp, the while his dying eyes did wear
A look of mortal striving, mortal agony, and prayer.

Though at the very last, as his stiff fingers dropped the cross,
A gleam as from some distant city swept his face across,
The clay lips settled into calm--thus did the monk attest,
A look of one who through much peril enters into rest.

Not thus did he, the younger brother, seek the Master's face;
But in earth's lowly places did he strive his steps to trace,
Wherever want and grief besought with clamorous complaint,
There he beheld his Lord--naked, athirst, and faint.

And when his hand was wet with tears, wrung with a grateful grasp,
He lightly felt upon his palm the Elder Brother's clasp;
And when above the loathsome couch of woe and want bent he,
A low voice thrilled his soul, "So have ye done it unto Me."

Despised he not the mystic ties of blood, yet did he claim
The broader, wider brotherhood, with every race and name;
To his own kin he kind and loyal was in truth, yet still,
His mother and his brethren were all who did God's will