Kitabı oku: «The Hidden Servants and Other Very Old Stories», sayfa 3

The Eldest Daughter of the King

The two stories of the Patriarch, St. John of Alexandria, which are especially interesting, as being without doubt true in all their principal facts, are taken from a short account of that wonderful man, written by St. Leontius, Bishop of Napolis, in Cyprus, who visited Alexandria after the Patriarch's death, and wrote in great part from the dictation of the Patriarch's servant, by name Zaccarias, himself a man of saintly character. The stories must have been written by St. Leontius not long after 620, when the Patriarch died.

The Eldest Daughter of the King

 
Saint John of Alexandria – blessèd name,
Recalling ever holy thought and deed!
O heart forever warm with heavenly flame!
O hand forever full for others' need!
 
 
Blessèd and blessing thousands! Since his day,
Twelve hundred years, and more, have come and gone,
Their beauty dead, their glory passed away:
But in our loving thought he still lives on.
 
 
Of all who ever walked on earthly sod,
(Though many loved and saintly names there be,)
I know not if another ever trod
More closely in his Master's steps than he!
 
 
To comfort all who suffer, – this alone
His soul desired; for this he prayed and strove
With heart unchanging; and for him were none
Too high for pity, nor too low for love.
 
 
And often was he rich, and often poor;
For God upon him had great wealth bestowed,
Which endless store of blessing did procure
To souls that fainted with their weary load.
 
 
Nor could he e'er from sorrow turn away,
Nor from a brother's need his hand withhold;
But when his all was spent, men used to say,
The good Lord gave him back a hundredfold.
 
 
Enough there was, and ever more to spare,
Though help abundant came at every call.
When prudent friends had prayed him to forbear,
He only said, "God has enough for all."
 
 
Till, for their souls' content, he told the truth, —
He being now a grey-haired agèd man, —
The holy vision that had blessed his youth,
And changed, of all his life, the course and plan.
 
 
"A boy I was, and in my father's home
I slept; 't was night, and I was all alone,
When to my side I felt a presence come;
A hand awakened me that touched my own.
 
 
"I saw the chamber all ablaze with light,
And there, before me, stood a lady fair,
With olive crowned, and clad in raiment bright,
Such as, I think, the saints in Heaven may wear.
 
 
"Hers was no earthly beauty, but a grace
Most sweet and solemn that no words can reach;
I looked awhile in her celestial face,
And then addressed her, but with timid speech:
 
 
"'Who art thou, O my lady, that dost bring
Such glory in the night?' Then answered she:
'I am the eldest daughter of the King,
And more than all my sisters, he loves me.
 
 
"'For me He left His glory: it was I
Who led Him on along the thorny road,
To suffer, and for others' sin to die;
For me He shared thy sorrow, bore thy load.
 
 
"'Take me for thy companion: I will be
Thy friend as I was His, and by the hand
Will lead thee where at evening thou shalt see
The emperor's face, and in his presence stand.
 
 
"While yet the voice was sounding in my ear
The vision ceased; I saw the light no more:
The moon was shining through the window near,
And all the house was silent as before.
 
 
"And, waiting till I saw the dawn ascend,
I lay and mused upon this wondrous thing;
And tried, with my child's mind, to comprehend
Who was the eldest daughter of the King,
 
 
"I prayed, I pondered long in vain; until
A light from Heaven was on my spirit shed:
And not by wisdom, nor by earthly skill,
I knew the meaning of the words she said.
 
 
"When Christ our blessèd Lord to earth came down,
And gave His life for lost and thankless men,
And changed His glory for a thorny crown,
'T was Mercy led and did constrain Him then.
 
 
"Ah, woe to us, if Mercy had not been
His eldest daughter, and His guide that day!
Then had we died, and perished in our sin,
Unpitied, unforgiven, cast away."
 
 
Such was the Patriarch's story, and we know
That Mercy in his heart her dwelling made,
As in no other; and his life below
Was Mercy, in a thousand forms displayed.
 
 
And when the summons came that comes to all,
As on a journey distant far he went;
While he, rejoicing, heard the heavenly call,
This token to the stricken church was sent.
 
 
A humble convent had his bounty shared,
From Alexandria some few miles away:
And there, where he for rest had oft repaired,
An agèd brother sick and dying lay.
 
 
For years infirm and helpless had he lain,
But strong in faith, and happy in God's will,
Through all the weary days and nights of pain,
His only work to suffer and lie still.
 
 
They two were friends, the Patriarch and he,
For oft the busy saint had loved to turn
From care and work, that peaceful face to see,
And from those patient lips some lesson learn.
 
 
And now as he lay dying, glad to go,
Yet thinking, maybe, of his absent friend,
To him was granted in a dream to know,
Of that most holy life, the blessèd end.
 
 
For, sleeping, he beheld in vision clear
That sombre palace by the poor beloved,
Where the good Patriarch, year after year,
Had all their burdens lightened or removed.
 
 
And down the stairway moved a long array
Of priests and others; slowly did they tread,
A grave procession, as on festal day,
And he, the Patriarch, was at their head.
 
 
The loved companions of his toil were there,
Who helped him long to labour and endure,
Who knelt beside him in the church at prayer,
Or bore his secret bounty to the poor.
 
 
They passed the door where none had knocked in vain,
They crossed the courtyard with its well of stone;
But at the outer gate did all remain
With saddened look, while he went forth alone.
 
 
And now the vision changed, he walked no more
The city street that knew his step so well,
But trod a pleasant path, unknown before,
Through a fair land, where peace did ever dwell.
 
 
There rose the emperor's palace on a hill,
O'erlooking all the country, where it lay
Spread out beneath it, beautiful and still,
In all the sweetness of an April day.
 
 
Grand was that mansion, stately to behold;
To tell its beauty words can ne'er begin, —
The thousand columns, and the domes of gold,
And shining all as from a light within.
 
 
He neared the palace – of their own accord
The lofty gates before him open swing,
And in the glory, as it outward poured,
Came forth the eldest daughter of the King,
 
 
Came as he saw her on that far-off night
Which star-like through his life's long journey shone,
Wearing her olive crown, her robe of light,
And came to meet him, where he walked alone,
 
 
He bowed and knelt before her, for he knew
That presence which had blessed him long before;
While from her folded mantle forth she drew
A crown of olive, like the one she wore,
 
 
And placed it on the saintly silvered head;
Then took his hand. He rose; nor did they wait:
The dreamer watched them as they onward sped,
Till, hand in hand, they entered through the gate.
 
 
And then, as light concealed them, he awoke,
And to the brethren, gathered in his cell,
In tearful silence listening while he spoke,
He did the story of his vision tell,
 
 
And bade them note what hour the dream was sent,
Which some with anxious hearts made haste to do;
Then waited, fearing what the vision meant;
Till time had shown them all they feared was true.
 
 
For when the dreaded tidings came at last,
They knew that on that very hour and day
Their much-loved father from this life had passed,
In his own isle of Cyprus, far away.
 

Bishop Troilus

Bishop Troilus

THE MANSION IN HEAVEN

 
In pomp and state, with following great, the Bishop Troilus came
To the town of Alexandria, which knew him long by fame,
To see the holy Patriarch, who had been his friend of old,
To hear his words of wisdom, and his saintly life behold.
In youth their paths together lay, and both with one accord
Had chosen then the better part, and thought to serve the Lord;
For half a century now and more had each one gone his way.
The Patriarch nearer was to God, far nearer than that day;
For his soul was like a garden where the flowers that then were sown,
With care and patient tending, had to perfect beauty grown.
 
 
And Troilus? … In the world's esteem he stood as high, or higher;
His piety did all men praise, his eloquence admire;
He had fiery words to thrill them, he had flowery words to please,
And when he preached on festal days, the people swarmed like bees;
From altar steps to open door there was hardly room to stand.
And 't was not the sermon only, but his presence was so grand;
With his grave and agèd beauty, with his form erect and tall,
With saintly face and silver hair, he won the hearts of all.
When through the city he returned, so lofty and serene,
A train of priests attended him, all with obsequious mien;
And children followed open-eyed, and gentle ladies bent
From balcony and window high to see him as he went.
Indeed he was a stately sight in silken raiment clad,
The ring he wore was valued more than aught the Patriarch had;
And the cross upon his bosom, that the people wondering viewed,
Gave back the sunshine, when he walked, from jewels many-hued.
And men said his life was blameless, but it still must be confessed,
Though the saints were glad to own him, yet the sinners loved him best.
He was rich, and he was famous, and, as all his life had shown,
He was great in worldly wisdom, and the world will love its own.
 
 
But while saints and shiners praised him, there was one who did not praise,
But whose eyes forever watched him with a sad and anxious gaze;
For the Patriarch, simple-hearted, was not dazzled like the rest,
And he knew the deadly passion that the Bishop's soul possessed, —
Yes, more deadly than another, for it lay so still and cold,
Like a serpent coiled within him, – 'twas the growing love of gold.
 
 
It had choked away his pleasure, it had eaten up his peace,
As with every year that left him he had seen his wealth increase,
Till his heart grew dry and withered in the smoke of worldly care;
But it dulled him with its poison, and he knew not it was there.
Oh, the Patriarch longed to see him from such cruel bondage free,
And he pleaded hard for Troilus every night on bended knee;
For there yet was time to save him, so he hoped and so believed,
But the days and weeks were passing, and no answer he received.
 
 
But with praying he grew bolder, and to combat he began,
And he left his door one morning with a wise and hopeful plan;
And he said in solemn murmur, as he walked along the way,
"I must go and fight with Satan for my brother's soul to-day;
He is cruel, he is cunning, but his arts will be in vain,
The strongest net he ever wove will never bear the strain
Of seeing and of hearing what each day I hear and see,
And the Lord has saved my brother if he will but come with me."
 
 
It was in the early morning, long before the noise and heat,
And the life was just beginning in the shady city street,
When he saw a church door open, and he turned and entered in.
"I will ask the Lord to help me in this work that I begin."
 
 
There were some who entered near him, and he saw they came in haste,
Toiling men and burdened women, who had little time to waste;
But they stole some precious minutes in that church to kneel and pray,
To refresh their souls and cheer them for the labours of the day;
And they gathered close around him on the pavement, for they felt
That their prayers would rise the higher if their father with them knelt.
Then he said to them: "My children, you must help me now indeed,
For my heart and soul are troubled for a friend in sorest need;
He is low with mortal sickness, but no earthly skill can cure.
Pray the Lord to show His mercy to the poorest of the poor."
So they knelt and prayed together, till the morning sun was high,
For the Patriarch's heart was kindled, and the time went quickly by.
 
 
Troilus too had risen early, and had said his morning prayers,
But he said them somewhat coldly, being filled with other cares.
At that moment he was thinking, while he counted up his store,
Upon certain silver goblets he had seen the day before,
Which a silversmith had brought him, and had hoped that he would buy.
They were nobly wrought and chiselled, and the price indeed was high,
But he thought upon his table they would look exceeding fine
When his friends, the rich and noble, should come in with him to dine;
Then how all of them would envy, and the thought his spirit cheered, —
When a gentle knock aroused him, and the Patriarch appeared.
Very bright his eyes were shining, and his face was all aglow,
But his voice was strange and solemn, when he told him, "I must go
To the hospital, my brother, and I came here on my way;
If we both could go together, it would be a happy day.
There I find my greatest blessing, every morning fresh and new,
But far greater, but far sweeter could I share it once with you."
How the heart of Troilus softened, as those eyes upon him shone,
At their look of earnest pleading, at the tremor in the tone!
Strange it was that look could melt him and that voice could change him so,
Calling back to life, a moment, what had withered long ago, —
Some old good that stirred within him, often spurned and thrust aside.
But the flowers the Lord had planted, though they dwindled, had not died;
He was poor in heavenly treasure, but he loved the Patriarch still.
"I will come," he answered quickly; "you may lead me where you will."
 
 
There were looks and tones of wonder in the hospital that day,
From the rows of low white couches where the sick and dying lay,
As, with all his train about him, in his splendour and his pride,
On he walked, the Bishop Troilus, by the simple Patriarch's side.
But erelong the two were parted, for as Troilus looked around,
He recoiled in shrinking horror from each doleful sight and sound;
While the Patriarch loved to linger for a while by every bed,
With his strong arms ever ready to sustain a drooping head;
Happy in each humble service, and forgetting all his state,
While he thanked the Lord who sent him on these stricken ones to wait.
How the pale sad faces brightened into smiles as he drew near,
And what loving words were murmured, faintly murmured in his ear!
 
 
"Does he well," said Bishop Troilus, as he saw him turn and go
From one bedside to another, "does he well to stoop so low?"
Yet had Troilus only known it, they were not the poor alone
Whom his brother served that morning, but their Master and his own.
There was one but just recovered, light of heart, though poor and weak,
With a journey long before him, going forth his home to seek,
Far away among the mountains where his wife and children stayed;
But the Patriarch's love had found him ere the stranger sought his aid,
Giving money for the journey, giving blessèd words of cheer.
Then he turned, for time was pressing, and a sadder face lay near,
Worn by months of pain and languor; he was young, had once been strong,
He was fading now, but slowly, and perhaps would suffer long,
And the hundred wants of sickness who can know that has not proved?
He had wearied all about him, but the Patriarch's heart was moved;
So he heard the long complaining to which no one else gave heed,
Then he left him, soothed and peaceful, with enough for all his need.
So with one and with another for a moment he would stay,
At each bed he left a blessing, and a blessing brought away,
Till his purse grew light and empty, as had happened oft before;
Though he turned it up and shook it, there was not one penny more.
 
 
Then he turned and sought for Troilus, who that moment, as it chanced,
With a look subdued and solemn, stood and gazed, like one entranced,
On the strange, unearthly beauty, on the light of perfect peace
In a woman's face before him; she was nearing her release,
And a glory rested on her from the opening door above;
Yet one shadow marred its splendour when she looked with anxious love
On a little maid, her daughter, with a pretty, careworn face,
Who had brought two younger children, waiting now for her embrace,
Wondering why she did not give it, why so deadly still she lay,
For they knew not, though she knew it, she would not live out the day.
Said the Patriarch: "Brother Troilus, have you nothing you could give
To this woman and her children, for she has not long to live?
And I see her mind is troubled, and I think, before they part,
Had she something she could leave them, it would ease her burdened heart;
For myself, I freely promise I will make these babes my care,
But to-day my purse is empty, so I pray you not to spare."
 
 
Oh! alas, poor Bishop Troilus! how this pleading broke the spell
That the woman's look had woven, and how low his spirit fell!
For he dearly loved his money, with a passion deep and blind,
As a scholar loves his learning, or a saint his peace of mind.
But the eyes of all were on him at that moment, and he knew
'T was in hopeful expectation of what such a saint would do;
There were many who had entered from the busy street to gaze,
He would not be shamed before them, they should still have cause to praise;
But his purse would have to open, so he turned and waved his hand
To the priest who always bore it, with a gesture of command.
"For this woman for her daughter and the two poor babes," said he,
"Lay down thirty golden pieces in the Patriarch's hand for me."
 
 
There were none who had not heard him, for his voice was loud and clear,
And a low, admiring murmur rose from all the couches near,
While the Patriarch stood rejoicing in the deed his friend had done;
By himself he judged another, and he thought the victory won.
For one moment Bishop Troilus feels his narrow heart expand,
When the maiden thanks him weeping, and the children kiss his hand,
And the mother, just departing, from the pillow where she lies,
Turns one happy smile upon him, with a blessing in her eyes.
 
 
But alas! on home returning, when the sacrifice was made,
When the Patriarch's holy presence was no longer there to aid,
He did much bewail his money; half in anger, half in pain,
To have parted in a moment with what took so long to gain.
And his heart was in a turmoil, and a pain was in his head,
Till the raging turned to fever, and he threw him on his bed
In a storm of angry passion that no reason could control;
For to him to part with money was like parting with his soul.
But he said no word to any of this rage and inward strife,
And the priests who waited on him were in terror for his life,
And as nothing made him better, they took counsel, and agreed
That the Patriarch, and he only, was the man to meet their need;
So they sent and humbly prayed him if to come he would be pleased,
For his friend the Bishop Troilus was with sudden illness seized.
 
 
In his chamber lay the Bishop, sick in body, sick in mind;
But the Patriarch, wise in spirit, had his malady divined.
So he came and sat beside him, patient still, but pale with grief,
While he made one last endeavour for that troubled soul's relief.
But his friend was sore and angry, and his words he would not hear,
For the presence now disturbed him that had lately been so dear.
And he lay with face averted, till he heard the Patriarch say,
"I have brought you back the money that you gave away to-day."
Then indeed he started wildly, and his eyes he opened wide,
And he turned and faced his brother with a joy he could not hide;
For with sudden hope he trembled, and it paled his fevered cheek;
And the Patriarch's heart was sinking, but he still went on to speak:
"When I asked your help this morning, I had nothing of my own,
So I left to you the blessing which had else been mine alone;
For those three dear orphan children I had gladly done the whole,
So their mother up in heaven might be praying for my soul.
And I now have come to ask you if this grace you will resign, —
Will you take again the money, and let your good deed be mine?
Yet I pray you to consider, ere you grant it or refuse,
What a great and heavenly treasure I shall win and you will lose;
For indeed I would not wrong you, though to me the gain be great.
So then do not answer rashly, – there is time, we both can wait,
And 't were well to think a little on the words our Master said,
How He left the poor behind, that we might serve them in His stead;
And whatever help we grant them, be it great or be it small,
To our blessèd Lord we give it, to our Lord, who gave us all."
 
 
Then made answer Bishop Troilus, "As for what you now propose,
If it please you I am ready, and the bargain we can close.
There are many kinds of service, and each needful in its way,
And I think the Lord has set me in His church to preach and pray,
And to save the souls that perish, and to teach men how to live,
While your own vocation, brother, is with open hand to give.
Let not one defraud the other, take your part and leave me mine,
For however we may divide it, all the service is divine.
Let us feed God's flock together, for His needy children care,
I the souls, and you the bodies, so the burden we may share."
"Then so be it," said the other, but his voice was low and grave,
And he prayed to God in silence for the soul he could not save.
"We must write it all in order, we must sign and seal it too,
So that mine may be the blessing, while the gold remains with you."
 
 
So they wrote a contract solemn, to which each one signed his name,
In which he, the Bishop Troilus, did relinquish every claim
To whatever reward or merit his one pious deed had earned,
Since the thirty golden pieces to his hand had been returned.
Then the Patriarch counted slowly all the pieces, one by one,
In the open hand of Troilus, and his last attempt was done.
All had failed, and heavy-hearted from that chamber forth he went,
While his friend lay still and smiling in the fullness of content;
For the fever now had left him, and 't was sweet to lie and rest,
With no more a thorn to vex him in his smooth, untroubled breast.
With a dreamy satisfaction he was thinking all the while
How those pretty shining pieces would increase the golden pile
In that chest of hoarded treasure that already held so much;
And he laid his hand upon them with a fond caressing touch.
But his thoughts began to wander, and his eyes were closing soon,
In the drowsy heat and stillness of the summer afternoon.
Then a dream was sent to bless him, as in quiet sleep he lay,
And it bore him in a vision to the country far away;
And he saw the holy city, where the saints and angels dwell;
Of its glory, of its beauty, mortal tongue can never tell.
There were palm-trees growing stately by the water, crystal clear;
There was music ever swelling, sometimes far and sometimes near,
As it rose in mystic cadence from the hearts that overflowed
With the joy that reigns forever in their beautiful abode.
And the people of that city whom he met along the way
On the shining golden pavement, oh, how full of peace were they!
For he thought some heavenly vision shone forever in their sight,
And he looked where they were gazing, but he only saw the light
As it flooded all with glory, and the air it seemed to fill;
But he saw not what they looked on, for his eyes were mortal still.
Now among those lighted faces there were some he knew before,
Of the poor to whom so often he had closed his heart and door;
Such as in the heavenly city he had little thought to find,
For the sad and sick and needy had been never to his mind:
Of the rich were not so many, yet a few of these beside,
Who by deeds of love and mercy had their Master glorified.
And in perfect health and beauty, among all that bright array,
Was the woman he saw dying in the hospital that day.
 
 
All along the road he travelled, to the left and to the right,
Rose the palaces they dwelt in, each a mansion of delight,
But all varying in their beauty, far away as eye could reach,
With a name in golden letters, high above the door of each.
And sweet faces smiled upon him, from the windows here and there,
Gentle faces free forever from the shade of earthly care;
And he heard the happy voices of the children as they played
In the fair and peaceful gardens, where the roses never fade;
And the things he left behind him seemed so very poor and small,
That he wondered, in that glory, why men cared for them at all.
 
 
But oh, wonder of all wonders, when he saw a name that shone
O'er a high and arching doorway, yes, a name that was his own!
Could it be his eyes deceived him? No, he read it o'er and o'er;
"This," it said, "of Bishop Troilus is the home forevermore."
Oh the beauty of that palace, with such light and splendour filled,
That he thought the clouds of sunset had been hewn its walls to gild;
And the golden door stood open, he could catch a glimpse within
Of the vast illumined chambers where no foot had ever been.
He could only gaze bewildered, for the wonder was too great,
And the joy so poured upon him he could hardly bear the weight.
Then he took one step toward it, but a servant of the King
Who from far-off earth that morning had returned on busy wing,
And was bearing gifts and tokens from the scattered church below,
Came and passed and stood before him, in the courtyard's golden glow.
 
 
Then he turned to his companions, for a few had gathered near,
And his words fell hard and heavy on the Bishop's listening ear, —
"We must cancel that inscription from the stone, and write thereon
That Troilus hath this palace sold unto the Patriarch John,
And that thirty golden pieces were the price that he received."
Up then started Bishop Troilus, for his soul was sorely grieved,
And he tried to speak, but could not, and awoke in his dismay,
With his hand upon the money close beside him where he lay.
 
 
Now the long bright day was over; as he saw the sun descend, —
"Weary day," the Patriarch thought it; he was glad to see it end.
He was walking in his garden where the freshening shadows lay,
And the flowers that drooped at noontime stood erect in beauty gay;
But their brightness could not cheer him, and he bent his head and sighed,
For he thought, with wondering sadness, that the Lord his prayer denied,
 
 
Then he heard a step behind him, and he looked; but who was there,
Wild of look, like one who struggled with a pain he could not bear?
Could it be the stately Bishop? Yes, but oh, how changed to see!
And he said with tears and trembling, "O my brother, pray for me!"
How the Patriarch's heart rebounded from the weight that on it pressed,
At the change so deep and sudden, in those broken words expressed!
How his cheek grew red with gladness, how it smoothed his troubled brow!
"God forgive me if I doubted, all my prayers are answered now."
 
 
"Come," he said, "my brother Troilus, sit beside me, tell me all;"
And he led him, pale and helpless, to a seat beside the wall.
And there Troilus, clinging closely to that strong and helpful hand,
Trusting in the heart that loved him and his thoughts could understand,
Told the story of his vision to his awed and listening friend, —
All that dream of light and glory, with its sad, unlooked-for end:
But his voice, which trembled ever, wellnigh failed him when he told
Of the horror of that waking, with his hand upon the gold;
When his eyes, long blind, were opened, and he saw the wreck within,
And one fearful moment, showed him what his wasted life had been.
"Now," he said, "my courage fails me when I think to mend my ways.
I have wasted all God gave me, – mind, and strength, and length of days, —
And the gold I gave my soul for pulls me downward with its weight;
Help me if you can, oh, help me! Say it is not yet too late."
And he looked with eyes beseeching at the Patriarch, who replied
With a smile that fell like sunshine on the faint heart by his side, —
 
 
"What! too late for God's forgiveness, when He calls you to repent?
'T was to save you, not to lose you, that the blessèd dream was sent;
'T is His help, not mine, my brother, you are needing, and you know,
If we ask it, He will give it, for Himself has told us so.
And the prodigal returning shall be welcomed all the more
If the years were long and many since he left his Father's door."
"But," said Troilus, "I am agèd, and my manhood's strength is past;
After such a life ungodly, can I hope for grace at last?"
"Never fear," the Patriarch answered, "there is joy in heaven to-day,
And they ask not in their gladness if your hair be black or gray."
 
 
So then Troilus gathered courage, and that night, by deed and word,
Gave himself and all his substance to the service of the Lord;
Yet in his own strength mistrusting, he implored his friend anew
With his daily prayer to aid him, and he promised so to do.
And the thirty golden pieces he returned to him again,
Yes, and other thirty with them, for the change was not in vain,
 
 
Then he left the past behind him, and a better life began;
From that evening in the garden he became another man.
There was no more train about him when he walked the city through,
For the priests who once attended now had better work to do;
And the ladies cared no longer from their balconies to lean,
When of worldly pomp and splendour there was nothing to be seen.
For the cross of many jewels on his bosom shone no more,
Having gone on works of mercy to increase his heavenly store.
But the poor and needy sought him; he was now their faithful friend,
And they knew, whatever befell them, on his love they might depend.
 
 
So his closing days were happy, after years of sordid care,
For no gain can bring contentment till the poor have had their share;
And he lightened many a burden, and he righted many a wrong,
And the wealth became a blessing that had been a curse so long;
And his secret hoard was scattered, and men said that he died poor,
But he found great wealth in heaven at the end, we may be sure.