Zacchaeus

To whom the heavy burden clings,         It yet may serve him like a staff;         One day the cross will break in wings,         The sinner laugh a holy laugh.         The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a tree,         His humble stature set him high;         The Lord the little man did see         Who sought the great man passing by.         Up to the tree he came, and stopped:         "To-day," he said, "with thee I bide."         A spirit-shaken fruit he dropped,         Ripe for the Master, at his side.         Sure never host with gladder look         A welcome guest home with him bore!         Then rose the Satan of rebuke         And loudly spake beside the door:         "This is no place for holy feet;         Sinners should house and eat alone!         This man sits in the stranger's seat         And grinds the faces of his own!"         Outspoke the man, in Truth's own might:         "Lord, half my goods I give the poor;         If one I've taken more than right         With four I make atonement sure!"         "Salvation here is entered in;         This man indeed is Abraham's son!"         Said he who came the lost to win--         And saved the lost whom he had won.