Had'st thou stayed, I would have fled,
That is all the vision said
In his chamber all alone
Seated on the floor of stone,
Prayed the monk in deep contrition
For his sins of indecision;
Prayed for greater self-denial,
In temptation and in trial;
It was noonday by the dial,
And the monk was all alone.
Suddenly as if it lightened,
An unwanted splendor brightened within him and without him
In that narrow cell of stone;
And he saw that blessed vision
Of our Lord in light Elysian,
Like a vesture wrapped about him
Like a garment round him thrown.
Not as crucified and slain,
Not in agonies of pain,
Not with bleeding hands and feet
Did the monk his master see;
But as in Bethlehem's street
Or Mary's house or harvest field,
Halt, lame, and blind He healed
When He walked in Galilee
In an attitude imploring,
Hands upon his bosom crossed,
Wondering, worshipping, adoring,
Knelt the monk in rature lost
"Lord" he thought "in heaven that reignest,
Who am I that thus thou deinest
To reveal thyself to me?
Who am I that from the centre
Of thy glory, thou shouldst enter
This poor cell me quest to be?"
Then amidst his exaltations
Loud the convent bell appealing
From the belfry calling, calling,
Rang through court and corridor
With persistent iteration
He had never heard before
It was now the appointed hour
When alike in shine or shower,
Winter's cold or summer's heat
To the convent portals came
All the blind and halt and lame
All the beggars of the street,
For their daily dole of food
Dealt them by the brotherhood;
And their almoner was he
Who now on bended knee,
Rapt in silent ecstasy
Of divinest self surrender
Saw the vision and the splendor
Deep distress and hesitation
Mingled with his adoration
Should he go or should he stay?
Should he leave the poor to wait
Hungry at the convent gate
Till the vision passed away?
Should he slight his visitant Celestial
For a crowd of ragged bestial
Beggars at the convent gate?
Would the vision there remain?
Would the vision come again?
Then a voice within his breast
Whispered audible and clear,
As if to the outward ear,
"Do thy duty, that is best,
Leave unto thy Lord the rest."
Straighway to his feet he started,
And with longing look intent,
On the blessed vision bent,
Slowly from his cell departed,
Slowly on his errand went
At the gate the poor were waiting,
Looking through the iron grating
With that terror in the eye
That is only seen in those amid
Who amid their wants and woes
Hear a sound of doors that close,
And of feet that pass them by;
Grown familiar with the Savior
Of the bread by which men die.
But today they knew not why,
Like the gates of Paradise
Seem to convent gates to rise
Like a Sacrament Divine
Seem to them the bread and wine;
In his heart the monk was praying
Thinking of the homeless poor
What they suffered and endured
And an inward voice kept saying
Whatsoever thing thou doest
To the least of mine and lowest
That thou doest unto me.
At length with hurried pace
Toward his cell he turned his face;
All the corridor seemed bright
With a supernatural light
Like a luminous cloud explanding
Over floor and wall and ceiling
Then he paused with awestruck feeling
At the threshold of his door
For the vision still was standing
As he left it there before
When the convent bell appealing
From its belfry calling, calling,
Summoned him to feed the poor
Through the long hour intervening
It had waiting his return
Comprehending all the meaning when the blessed vision said,
Hadst thou stayed I must have fled.
- The penman was copying Longfellow's famous poem.
