University of Virginia Library

So they came;
So entered he our town; but, ere the sun
Had lit the Eastern clouds, a fever's chill
Fell on him; parchèd thirst, and darting throbs
Of keenest anguish racked those weary limbs;
His brow seemed circled with a crown of pain;
And oft, pale, breathless, as if life had fled,
He looked like one in ecstasy, who sees
What others see not, to whose ears a voice,
Which others hear not, floats from sea or sky:
And broken sounds would murmur from his lips
Of glory wondrous, sights ineffable,
The cry of “Abba, Father,” and the notes
Of some strange, solemn chant of other lands.
So stricken, prostrate, pale, the traveller lay,
So stript of all the comeliness of form,
Men might have spurned and loathed him, passing on
To lead their brighter life. And yet we stayed;
We spurned him not, nor loathed; through all the shrouds
Of poverty and sickness we could see
The hero-soul, the presence as of One
Whom then we knew not. When the pain was sharp,
And furrowed brows betrayed the strife within,
Then was he gentlest. Even to our slaves
He spake as brothers, winning all their hearts
By that unwonted kindness. Those who came
To give some casual help, the grape's fresh juice,
Or golden fruit from Pontus, found a spring
Of new-born feeling flooding all their souls;
The careless, sportive youths, hard-toiling men,
And mothers worn with age and household work,
And children smiling in their infant glee,
Would gather round his couch; and each and all
Found it their highest blessing but to soothe
One throb of anguish, and (could such things be)
Would fain have offered health, and strength, and youth,
Would fain have given their own bright, gleaming eyes,
And walked in darkness, so that he might see.