The Hermit Of Thebaid

O strong, upwelling prayers of faith,     From inmost founts of life ye start,     The spirit's pulse, the vital breath     Of soul and heart!     From pastoral toil, from traffic's din,     Alone, in crowds, at home, abroad,     Unheard of man, ye enter in     The ear of God.     Ye brook no forced and measured tasks,     Nor weary rote, nor formal chains;     The simple heart, that freely asks     In love, obtains.     For man the living temple is     The mercy-seat and cherubim,     And all the holy mysteries,     He bears with him.     And most avails the prayer of love,     Which, wordless, shapes itself in needs,     And wearies Heaven for naught above     Our common needs.     Which brings to God's all-perfect will     That trust of His undoubting child     Whereby all seeming good and ill     Are reconciled.     And, seeking not for special signs     Of favor, is content to fall     Within the providence which shines     And rains on all.     Alone, the Thebaid hermit leaned     At noontime o'er the sacred word.     Was it an angel or a fiend     Whose voice be heard?     It broke the desert's hush of awe,     A human utterance, sweet and mild;     And, looking up, the hermit saw     A little child.     A child, with wonder-widened eyes,     O'erawed and troubled by the sight     Of hot, red sands, and brazen skies,     And anchorite.     "'What dost thou here, poor man? No shade     Of cool, green palms, nor grass, nor well,     Nor corn, nor vines." The hermit said     "With God I dwell.     "Alone with Him in this great calm,     I live not by the outward sense;     My Nile his love, my sheltering palm     His providence."     The child gazed round him. "Does God live     Here only? where the desert's rim     Is green with corn, at morn and eve,     We pray to Him.     "My brother tills beside the Nile     His little field; beneath the leaves     My sisters sit and spin, the while     My mother weaves.     "And when the millet's ripe heads fall,     And all the bean-field hangs in pod,     My mother smiles, and, says that all     Are gifts from God."     Adown the hermit's wasted cheeks     Glistened the flow of human tears;     "Dear Lord!" he said, "Thy angel speaks,     Thy servant hears."     Within his arms the child he took,     And thought of home and life with men;     And all his pilgrim feet forsook     Returned again.     The palmy shadows cool and long,     The eyes that smiled through lavish locks,     Home's cradle-hymn and harvest-song,     And bleat of flocks.     "O child!" he said, "thou teachest me     There is no place where God is not;     That love will make, where'er it be,     A holy spot."     He rose from off the desert sand,     And, leaning on his staff of thorn,     Went with the young child hand in hand,     Like night with morn.     They crossed the desert's burning line,     And heard the palm-tree's rustling fan,     The Nile-bird's cry, the low of kine,     And voice of man.     Unquestioning, his childish guide     He followed, as the small hand led     To where a woman, gentle-eyed,     Her distaff fed.     She rose, she clasped her truant boy,     She thanked the stranger with her eyes;     The hermit gazed in doubt and joy     And dumb surprise.     And to! with sudden warmth and light     A tender memory thrilled his frame;     New-born, the world-lost anchorite     A man became.     "O sister of El Zara's race,     Behold me! had we not one mother?"     She gazed into the stranger's face     "Thou art my brother!"     "And when to share our evening meal,     She calls the stranger at the door,     She says God fills the hands that deal     Food to the poor."     "O kin of blood! Thy life of use     And patient trust is more than mine;     And wiser than the gray recluse     This child of thine.     "For, taught of him whom God hath sent,     That toil is praise, and love is prayer,     I come, life's cares and pains content     With thee to share."     Even as his foot the threshold crossed,     The hermit's better life began;     Its holiest saint the Thebaid lost,     And found a man