Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By Robert Browning (18121889)The Boy and the Angel
MORNING, evening, noon, and night, | |
“Praise God!” sang Theocrite. | |
Then to his poor trade he turned, | |
Whereby the daily meal was earned. | |
Hard he laboured, long and well; | 5 |
O’er his work the boy’s curls fell. | |
But ever at each period, | |
He stopped and sang, “Praise God.” | |
Then back again his curls he threw, | |
And cheerful turned to work anew. | 10 |
Said Blaise, the listening monk, “Well done; | |
“I doubt not thou art heard, my son: | |
“As well as if thy voice to-day | |
Were praising God, the Pope’s great way. | |
“This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome | 15 |
Praises God from Peter’s Dome.” | |
Said Theocrite, “Would God that I | |
Might praise him that great way, and die!” | |
Night passed, day shone, | |
And Theocrite was gone. | 20 |
With God a day endures alway, | |
A thousand years are but a day. | |
God said in heaven, “Nor day, nor night, | |
Now brings the voice of my delight.” | |
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow’s birth, | 25 |
Spread his wings and sank to earth; | |
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, | |
Lived there, and played the craftsman well; | |
And morning, evening, noon, and night, | |
Praised God in place of Theocrite. | 30 |
And from a boy to youth he grew: | |
The man put off the stripling’s hue: | |
The man matured and fell away | |
Into the season of decay: | |
And ever o’er the trade he bent, | 35 |
And lived on earth content. | |
(He did God’s will; to him, all one | |
If on the earth or in the sun.) | |
God said, “A praise is in my ear; | |
There is no doubt in it, no fear; | 40 |
“So sing old worlds, and so | |
New worlds that from my footstool go. | |
“Clearer loves sound other ways; | |
I miss my little human praise.” | |
Then forth sprang Gabriel’s wings, off fell | 45 |
The flesh disguise, remained the cell. | |
’Twas Easter day; he flew to Rome, | |
And paused above St Peter’s Dome. | |
In the tiring room close by | |
The great outer gallery, | 50 |
With his holy vestments dight, | |
Stood the new Pope Theocrite: | |
And all his past career | |
Came back upon him clear, | |
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, | 55 |
Till on his life the sickness weighed; | |
And in his cell, when death drew near, | |
An angel in a dream brought cheer: | |
And rising from the sickness drear | |
He grew a priest, and now stood here. | 60 |
To the East with praise he turned, | |
And on his sight the angel burned. | |
“I bore thee from thy craftsman’s cell | |
And set thee here: I did not well. | |
“Vainly I left my angel-sphere, | 65 |
Vain was thy dream of many a year, | |
“Thy voice’s praise seemed weak; it dropped— | |
Creation’s chorus stopped! | |
“Go back and praise again, | |
The early way, while I remain, | 70 |
“With that weak voice of our disdain, | |
Take up creation’s pausing strain. | |
“Back to the cell and poor employ: | |
Resume the craftsman and the boy!” | |
Theocrite grew old at home; | 75 |
A new Pope dwelt in Peter’s Dome. | |
One vanished as the other died: | |
They sought God side by side. | |