The Boy And the Angel

The poem

Morning, evening, noon and night, ``Praise God!; sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he laboured, long and well; O'er his work the boy's curls fell.

But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, ``Praise God!''

Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew.

Said Blaise, the listening monk, ``Well done; ``I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

``As well as if thy voice to-day ``Were praising God, the Pope's great way.

``This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome ``Praises God from Peter's dome.''

Said Theocrite, ``Would God that I ``Might praise him, that great way, and die!''

Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone.

With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day.

God said in heaven, ``Nor day nor night ``Now brings the voice of my delight.''

Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, Spread his wings and sank to earth;

Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well;

And morning, evening, noon and night, Praised God in place of Theocrite.

And from a boy, to youth he grew: The man put off the stripling's hue:

The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay:

And ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content.

(He did God's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.)

God said, ``A praise is in mine ear; ``There is no doubt in it, no fear:

``So sing old worlds, and so ``New worlds that from my footstool go.

``Clearer loves sound other ways: ``I miss my little human praise.''

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery,

With his holy vestments dight, Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:

And all his past career Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed;

And in his cell, when death drew near, An angel in a dream brought cheer:

And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here.

To the East with praise he turned, And on his sight the angel burned.

``I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell ``And set thee here; I did not well.

``Vainly I left my angel-sphere, ``Vain was thy dream of many a year.

``Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--- ``Creation's chorus stopped!

``Go back and praise again ``The early way, while I remain.

``With that weak voice of our disdain, ``Take up creation's pausing strain.

``Back to the cell and poor employ: ``Resume the craftsman and the boy!''

Theocrite grew old at home; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.

One vanished as the other died: They sought God side by side.