One of the Least of These.

'Twas on a day of cold and sleet,     A little nomad of the street     With tattered garments, shoeless feet,         And face with hunger wan,     Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful,     Hedged in by features pinched and dull,     Betraying lines so pitiful         By sorrow sharply drawn;     Ere yet the service half was o'er,     Approached the great cathedral door     As choir and organ joined to pour         Their sweetness on the air;     Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide     With fleetness to the altar's side,     Her trembling form she sought to hide         Amid the shadows there,     Half fearful lest some worshiper,     Enveloped close in robes of fur,     Had cast a scornful glance at her         As she had stolen by,     But soon the swelling anthem, fraught     With reverence, her spirit caught     As rapt she listened, heeding not         The darkness drawing nigh.     'Mid novelty and sweet surprise     Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise     And tread the realms of Paradise;         Her shivering limbs grew warm,     And as the shadows longer crept     Across the chancel, angels kept     Their vigils o'er her as she slept         Secure from cold and storm.     No sound her peaceful slumber broke,     But one, whose gentle face bespoke     True goodness, took her costly cloak         In tender, thoughtful way,     And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,     Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,     O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,         And softly stepped away.     So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart     Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,     Thou hast a nearer, dearer part         In his great love for thee;     And when life's shadows all are gone,     May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn     To thee who, unaware, hast drawn         Our hearts in sympathy.