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For it makes him kneel to a broken slave and set his foot on a king；
And it shakes the walls of his little soul with the echo of God's mirth。
〃There was the poet Homer had the sorrow to be blind；
Yet a hundred people with good eyes would listen to him all night；
For they took great enjoyment in the heaven of his mind；
And were glad when the old blind poet let them share his powers of sight。
And there was Heine lying on his mattress all day long；
He had no wealth； he had no friends； he had no joy at all；
Except to pour his sorrow into little cups of song；
And the world finds in them the magic wine that his broken heart let fall。
〃And these are only a couple of names from a list of a thousand score
Who have put their glory on the world in poverty and pain。
And the title of poet's a noble thing； worth living and dying for；
Though all the devils on earth and in Hell spit at me their disdain。
It is stern work； it is perilous work； to thrust your hand in the sun
And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men：
But Prometheus； torn by the claws and beaks whose task is never done；
Would be tortured another eternity to go stealing fire again。〃
Lionel Johnson
（For the Rev。 John J。 Burke； C。 S。 P。）
There was a murkier tinge in London's air
As if the honest fog blushed black for shame。
Fools sang of sin； for other fools' acclaim；
And Milton's wreath was tossed to Baudelaire。
The flowers of evil blossomed everywhere；
But in their midst a radiant lily came
Candescent； pure； a cup of living flame；
Bloomed for a day； and left the earth more fair。
And was it Charles； thy 〃fair and fatal King〃；
Who bade thee welcome to the lovely land？
Or did Lord David cease to harp and sing
To take in his thine emulative hand？
Or did Our Lady's smile shine forth； to bring
Her lyric Knight within her choir to stand？
Father Gerard Hopkins； S。 J。
Why didst thou carve thy speech laboriously；
And match and blend thy words with curious art？
For Song； one saith； is but a human heart
Speaking aloud； undisciplined and free。
Nay； God be praised； Who fixed thy task for thee！
Austere； ecstatic craftsman； set apart
From all who traffic in Apollo's mart；
On thy phrased paten shall the Splendour be！
Now； carelessly we throw a rhyme to God；
Singing His praise when other songs are done。
But thou； who knewest paths Teresa trod；
Losing thyself； what is it thou hast won？
O bleeding feet； with peace and glory shod！
O happy moth； that flew into the Sun！
Gates and Doors
（For Richardson Little Wright）
There was a gentle hostler
（And blessed be his name！）
He opened up the stable
The night Our Lady came。
Our Lady and Saint Joseph；
He gave them food and bed；
And Jesus Christ has given him
A glory round his head。
So let the gate swing open
However poor the yard；
Lest weary people visit you
And find their passage barred；
Unlatch the door at midnight
And let your lantern's glow
Shine out to guide the traveler's feet
To you across the snow。
There was a courteous hostler
（He is in Heaven to…night）
He held Our Lady's bridle
And helped her to alight；
He spread clean straw before her
Whereon she might lie down；
And Jesus Christ has given him
An everlasting crown。
Unlock the door this evening
And let your gate swing wide；
Let all who ask for shelter
Come speedily inside。
What if your yard be narrow？
What if your house be small？
There is a Guest is coming
Will glorify it all。
There was a joyous hostler
Who knelt on Christmas morn
Beside the radiant manger
Wherein his Lord was born。
His heart was full of laughter；
His soul was full of bliss
When Jesus； on His Mother's lap；
Gave him His hand to kiss。
Unbar your heart this evening
And keep no stranger out；
Take from your soul's great portal
The barrier of doubt。
To humble folk and weary
Give hearty welcoming；
Your breast shall be to…morrow
The cradle of a King。
The Robe of Christ
（For Cecil Chesterton）
At the foot of the Cross on Calvary
Three soldiers sat and diced；
And one of them was the Devil
And he won the Robe of Christ。
When the Devil comes in his proper form
To the chamber where I dwell；
I know him and make the Sign of the Cross
Which drives him back to Hell。
And when he comes like a friendly man
And puts his hand in mine；
The fervour in his voice is not
From love or joy or wine。
And when he comes like a woman；
With lovely； smiling eyes；
Black dreams float over his golden head
Like a swarm of carrion flies。
Now many a million tortured souls
In his red halls there be：
Why does he spend his subtle craft
In hunting after me？
Kings； queens and crested warriors
Whose memory rings through time；
These are his prey； and what to him
Is this poor man of rhyme；
That he； with such laborious skill；
Should change from role to role；
Should daily act so many a part
To get my little soul？
Oh； he can be the forest；
And he can be the sun；
Or a buttercup； or an hour of rest
When the weary day is done。
I saw him through a thousand veils；
And has not this sufficed？
Now； must I look on the Devil robed
In the radiant Robe of Christ？
He comes； and his face is sad and mild；
With thorns his head is crowned；
There are great bleeding wounds in his feet；
And in each hand a wound。
How can I tell； who am a fool；
If this be Christ or no？
Those bleeding hands outstretched to me！
Those eyes that love me so！
I see the Robe I look I hope
I fear but there is one
Who will direct my troubled mind；
Christ's Mother knows her Son。
O Mother of Good Counsel； lend
Intelligence to me！
Encompass me with wisdom；
Thou Tower of Ivory！
〃This is the Man of Lies；〃 she says；
〃Disguised with fearful art：
He has the wounded hands and feet；
But not the wounded heart。〃
Beside the Cross on Calvary
She watched them as they diced。
She saw the Devil join the game
And win the Robe of Christ。
The Singing Girl
（For the Rev。 Edward F。 Garesche； S。 J。）
There was a little maiden
In blue and silver drest；
She sang to God in Heaven
And God within her breast。
It flooded me with pleasure；
It pierced me like a sword；
When this young maiden sang： 〃My soul
Doth magnify the Lord。〃
The stars sing all together
And hear the angels sing；
But they said they had never heard
So beautiful a thing。
Saint Mary and Saint Joseph；
And Saint Elizabeth；
Pray for us poets now
And at the hour of death。
The Annuncia