Or if by the dusty wayside well,

From the glare and heat

Of the burning noon 3 wayfarer sought

A moment’s rest where the palm shade fell, And he said to him, “The day is hot,

And your road is rough for wandering feet,” Then I think on his way the pilgrim went

As one who has shared in a sacrament, Feeling no longer on him press

The burden of his weariness.

I f he said to a maid, “The sunset lies Redly on Nazareth hills to-night,”

Each sunset of her life would bring

A benedictive memory

Of his haunting face and holy eyes;

Or if to a bridegroom thus in spring, “The wife of thy youth is fair and wise,” So would she ever have seemed to be

In her husband’s sight.

If he but bade a passing guest

His meal to share,

Would not the one so honored deem Himself of all most highly blessed,

The food he ate heaven’s manna rare? Or when he to a friend addressed

A word of thanks for service done,

Or homely, familiar favor, none

Of richer recompense could dream.

140