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97

ON THE PILGRIM OF THE INFINITE.

And is it thus, the human race
From earth to heaven ascends?
Is this the way we gather grace,
We and our humble friends?
Not so: if they would enter Life,
The learned and refined
Must seek a door that suits my wife,
And me, and all mankind.
That homely door stands plump and plain
For any one to view;
And Tom and I and Mary Jane
Can enter it with you.
98

But do you really, then, suppose
That we, so rough and poor,
Shall have to wear superior clothes
When once inside the door?
Must we too learn your clever ways,
We and our little ones,
Ere we can meet the Master's gaze,
As daughters or as sons?
Oh no! He takes us as we are;
And gives us now and then
A better heritage by far
Than falls to wiser men.
He cares not for your fine long words
That mean we know not what:
He bids us feel we are the Lord's,
And be content with that.
His words were simple, like our own:
He spake them long ago:
But, though the world is changed and grown
Since He was here below,
99

Yet, men and women are the same;
They change not, great nor small;
And what He told them when He came,
He told them once for all.
Aye; we may do the best we can
To climb away from hell;
But Man shall not be more than Man,
Wherever he may dwell.
 

By the late Mr William Davies of Rome, author of The Pilgrimage of the Tiber, and The Shepherd's Garden. Mr Davies was an earnest and accomplished student of Dante.

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