The Legend Beautiful

 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.