PART XI.

Now from the miser kinsman’s house Came many a jovial sound; And lavish heirs had spent his gold, Ere twelve months had gone round.

That while within the busy town Dwelt Marien; and each day, In some good deed of Christian love And mercy, passed away.

For many an abject dweller there, Grief-bowed and labour-spent, Groaned forth, amid his little ones, To heaven his sad lament; And unto such, to raise, to cheer, The sent of God, she went.

But she who, even as they, was poor, Failed not of daily bread; A stranger, many took her in, And warmed, and clothed, and fed.

And when a sickness sore befel, And nigh to death she lay, Kind hearts there were who came to her, And watched her night and day.

And afterwards, when evil men Doomed her in bonds to lie, Many a true, noble friend arose, Willing for her to die.

Oh, blessed Christian hearts, who thus Unto this little one Did deeds of love; for as to Christ These righteous works were done! And they who blessed her, for themselves A tenfold blessing won!

Thus dwelt sweet Marien in the town For many a passing year; Yet of the poor, lost prodigal. No tidings could she hear.

She found him not; but yet she found Others who, even as he, Had gone astray and pined forlorn In hopeless misery.

To these repentant, outcast ones, She spake kind words of grace, And led them back, with yearning hearts To seek the father’s face; To find forgiveness in His heart, And love in His embrace.

Oh blessed, blessed Marien! --But let us now recall Whate’er had happed of change and woe Unto the prodigal.

He saw his little sister pine; He saw her silent woe; He saw her strength decline, yet still Her weary labour grow.

As this he saw, yet more and more He hated that hard man, With whom their cheerless misery, Their daily tasks began.

And even to true Marien, He bare an altered mind;-- Alas, that injuries should make Else loving hearts unkind!

But so it is! and when the twain To cheer his spirit strove, His wrath arose, and he repelled Their patient deeds of love.

Then evil men assailed his youth; And he who was so frail In suffering, ’gainst the tempter’s might Was feeble to prevail.

He was their easy prey; their tool; And bravely clothed and fed, In desperate scenes, ’mid desperate men, A lawless life he led.

Yet often to his soul came back Sweet memory of the time, When he, a happy, thoughtless child, Had knowledge of no crime.

And like a heavier, wearier woe, Than labour night and day, The consciousness of evil deeds Upon his spirit lay.

He thought of slighted Marien, And of the sister meek; Of the thin hands that plied the loom, And of the fading cheek; Yet how he had deserted them, The faithful and the weak!

He heard his loving parent’s voice Reproach him in his sleep; And conscience, that stern bosom-guest, Ceaseless upbraidings keep.

Yet, for the hated kinsman’s sake, Neither would he regard; And, because man was hard to him, Made his own nature hard.

Thus doing outrage to his soul, By chance he went one day Through the brown trodden churchyard, where The little sister lay.

A sexton there at work he found; And why he turned the mould So carefully, he asked, since there No name the tenant told.

Replied he, “in this wide church-yard I know each separate mound; Yet unto me that little grave Alone seems holy ground.”

And then he told of Marien, And how she there had wept Over the child, that ’neath the mould, In dreamless quiet slept.

“A little, friendless pauper child, She lieth here,” said he; “Yet not a grave in all the ground Like this affecteth me!”

Saying this, he wiped a tear aside, And turned from the place; And, in the skirts of his rich robe, The brother hid his face.

--He left the town; and in a ship, Bound for a far-off strand, He took his voyage; but distress Pursued her from the land.

At first disease was ’mong her men; And suffering long and sore, In midst of joyless, suffering mates, Forlorn and sad he bore.

Next mutiny brake forth; and then That miserable ship, As if there were no port for her, Without a wind the sails to stir, Lay moveless on the deep.

As Jonah, fleeing from the Lord, The soul-struck penitent Lay self-condemned, believing all On his account were sent.

Anon a tempest rose, and drove The ship before the gale, For three long days; and bore away Her rudder, mast, and sail.

On the fourth night dark land appeared, And the strained vessel bore Right on the rocky reef, and lay A wreck upon the shore.

At day-break only he remained To note the vessel’s fate:-- The Crusoe of a desert isle, Abject and desolate.

--The world went on as it was wont And in the city street, And in the busy market-place, Did thronging thousands meet.

Upon the hearths of poor men’s homes Good neighbors met at night; And kindness and companionship Made woe and labour light.

The loneliest hut among the hills To human hearts was known; And even in kingly palaces Men might not dwell alone.

The world went on as it was wont; And no man knew the while Of that poor lonely prodigal, Upon his lonely isle.

He clomb the cliffs to look afar Over the distant sea; If, please God, for his rescuing A coming sail might be.

He lit his beacon fires at night; He hoisted signals high;-- But the world went on as it was wont, And not a ship sailed by.

He was not missed among his kind,-- Man had forgot his name; But unto Him who cares for all, Who sees the little sparrow fall, His lonely misery came.

God saw him; saw his broken heart, His cheerless solitude, Saw how his human pride was gone, His human will subdued.

Saw him and loved him. Broken heart, Look up! the Father’s voice Calleth thee from thy depths of woe, And biddeth thee rejoice!

--Now Marien from the trading town Had voyaged; sent of Heaven She knew not whither; and the ship, Which with long storm had striven, At length upon a glorious isle Amid the seas was driven;

Where dwelt a gentle race at rest Amid their flowery wilds, Unknown to all the world, with hearts As simple as a child’s.

With them abode sweet Marien: But now it chanced one day, As in a slender carved boat Upon the shore she lay, A strong wind came, and filled the sail, And bare her thence away.

She had no fear, true Marien;-- That God was good, she knew, And even then had sent her forth Some work of love to do.

The prodigal upon his rock Was kneeling, and his prayer For confidence in heaven, arose Upon the evening air, Just as the little boat approached The island bleak and bare.

The boat ran up a creek, as if, ’Twere steered by angels good; And ere the evening prayer was done Beside the youth she stood.

The chiefest joy it hath not words Its deep excess to say; And as if he had seen a sprite, His spirit died away.

Then with clasped hands, and broken speech, And tears that ceaseless flowed; He poured forth from his full heart A fervent praise of God.