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The Vagrant at the Church Door
For years he had not seen his native place—
For years he had not spoken to a friend—
For years he had not stood within a church;
And now he linger'd in the dusky porch,
And watch'd the congregation, one by one,
Cheerfully enter, and devoutly bend
In silent adoration. Many a face,
Familiar long ago, glanced toward his own—
Perhaps with wonder, for they knew him not,
And he was sadly changed, since in this spot
His happy boyhood swiftly pass'd away.
For years he had not spoken to a friend—
For years he had not stood within a church;
And now he linger'd in the dusky porch,
And watch'd the congregation, one by one,
Cheerfully enter, and devoutly bend
In silent adoration. Many a face,
Familiar long ago, glanced toward his own—
Perhaps with wonder, for they knew him not,
And he was sadly changed, since in this spot
His happy boyhood swiftly pass'd away.
Strange fascination! Now he needs must stay;
For, in the echoes of the choir, he hears
A melody familiar to long past years
And sweet associations. Soon his tears
Tell how the vagrant's spirit has been moved.
All that he dreamt, all that he ever loved,
All that youth's prophecy said “might have been,”
All the grim shadows of the wasted past,
In dim procession moved before him now.
For, in the echoes of the choir, he hears
A melody familiar to long past years
And sweet associations. Soon his tears
Tell how the vagrant's spirit has been moved.
All that he dreamt, all that he ever loved,
All that youth's prophecy said “might have been,”
All the grim shadows of the wasted past,
In dim procession moved before him now.
The vagrant pass'd his fingers o'er his brow,
And seemed bewilder'd—crazed—until at last
The dawning of a hopeful smile was seen
Upon his face. The music of the psalm
Died out in whispering echoes; and the voice,
In earnest accents, of the village priest,
Was heard in prayer. Once more the vagrant glanced
Within the church, and then he entered in.
Beneath a column's shadow sat entranced
The poor world-weary man. A holy calm
Encompass'd him, and made his heart rejoice—
The past dissolved as though it had not been.
And seemed bewilder'd—crazed—until at last
The dawning of a hopeful smile was seen
Upon his face. The music of the psalm
Died out in whispering echoes; and the voice,
365
Was heard in prayer. Once more the vagrant glanced
Within the church, and then he entered in.
Beneath a column's shadow sat entranced
The poor world-weary man. A holy calm
Encompass'd him, and made his heart rejoice—
The past dissolved as though it had not been.
The service ends. The rolling organ ceased.
The verger came to where the vagrant sat
Mute as a statue. “Come, my man,” said he,
“The church is closing; take your stick and hat,
And let me shut the doors.” Then wonderingly
The verger look'd again, and muttered low,
“Poor soul! I knew him thirty years ago—
I little thought he would come here to die.”
The verger came to where the vagrant sat
Mute as a statue. “Come, my man,” said he,
“The church is closing; take your stick and hat,
And let me shut the doors.” Then wonderingly
The verger look'd again, and muttered low,
“Poor soul! I knew him thirty years ago—
I little thought he would come here to die.”
Poem No. 134; c. 26 September 1863
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