XXXII.
The priestly garb he wore; but seldom stood
With priestly crowd adoring sun or moon,
Or gods whose altars reeked with human blood.
His gentle heart the love of all had won;
That heart’s fierce conflict to them yet unknown,
With groans and tears he waged, as year by year
The bloody sacrifice he strove to shun,
Or strayed on solitary mountains, where
With nature he communed, and kneeled in humble prayer.
XXXIII.
God is where’er the human voice invokes
His mercy and his aid. On sea or land,
In crowd or desert drear, who upward looks
Seems in the midst of heaven’s fair dome to stand,
Which spreads in silence round on every hand,
In emblem of an all-embracing love,
That guards each soul, yet doth o’er all expand,
Pouring its gentle influence from above,
Where’er, by day or night, thro’ the wide world we rove.
XXXIV.
Such love he surely knew who yearning came
To bless the sorrowing and the helpless save.
When, visioned to my view, I sought his name,
His lips, responsive else, no utterance gave.
What paltry fame could such a spirit crave?
Let crested helm and kingly brows that wear
Fame’s tattered wreath, her gorgeous trappings have!
To him was given—’t was all he wished—to hear
The mourner’s happy song—the sufferer’s grateful prayer.
