Poet's Corner.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume IX, Issue 454, 23 December 1881, Page 7

Poet's Corner.

A CHRISTMAS TALE. ♦ Long yeaTs ago, in an Italian town, Our Saviour's picture hung there in a church.— It was a picture by a master's hand ; The greatest work of one who ranked for great. The world's Creator had been painted there, As when he lay a babe within tbe cave ; Kings offered frankincense, and myrrh, and gold, And in tbe outer air their star was seen, The King of King* appeared a wondrous child ; A light unearthly shone there through his face, His ears seemed lent to choirs from earth removed, In depth all mysteries his eyes contained.. The sbrine was rich with offerings and gifts, Treasures increased while ag^s passed away ; But, all beyond, this picture priceless seemed. From foreign lands the rich and noble came, To worship genius, in that work, and art. Mere humble worshippers the country round Sent daily up to worship God ; and there Was found as well the picture's devotee — A peasant man of poor and lowly mien, One all unskilled in genius or in art, Bat most devout to that unfathomed face. There as he knelt and prayed his eyes o'erflowed, And tbe proud Granger, wond'ring or amused, Would pause to mark th unheeding worshipper. But in His heart the peasant pleaded thus : " 0 God, my God 1 'tis not presumption, no, 'Tis not presumption vaunts in Thy dread face The features of my child, if there they be, E'en as the painter painted them, while yet My child was with me, and I owned no grave. But if in all Thy works most beautiful, Thee do we see, and so to love Thee learn, in that. Thy work to me most beautiful, My little child, I learned to love Thee best. And here through him, still do I love Thee best, And bear my load submissive to Thy will." Thus prayed the peasant, coming day by day, Before the picture, where art's cunning band That took his child for model had engraved The infinite, revealed in those sweet traits. And po the years went by, and so the man Grew old and bowed, and waited for his death, And loving more the picture every year. But then there came a day when the whole land Was filled with soldiers and the din of war. The towns were pillaged and the churches stripped, The priceless works of art were carried off, To grace rich palaces beyond the Alp«, In Paris made a while earth's capital. This picture too was stolen, and in the Louvre, Set up a wonder to the wond'ring world. How fare i the countryman ? A second time, It seemed, his child had died ; a second time, Heav'n's minister had left his side. No more Through love and beauty communed he with God. The earth grew dark, for Heav'n seemed further off, And then he said, " My time is nearly spent, Or if I live, or if I die, who cares ? Not do I care, but as it pleases God. I'll, therefore, journey to that foreign town, And see my darling ere I die once more, And read the lesson written on that face, I know not how or what — my darling's face, Yet not his face, but something great and good To lift the heart and soul above the earth, And bring them near to Heav'n." Thus went he forth, On foot and slow : and as he climbed the Alps Tbe snow came down and wrapped him in his shroud. 'Twas Christmas- time ; alike in death and life Tbe Infant Saviour marked him as His own. * # # # # • But though for us no cunning hand has traced With traits beloved, the Saviour's gracious face, His face in every infant let us see And love our God, and reverence the child.

The Princess de la Tour d'Auvergne, a French lady, who has for some years past lived in a villa where she bad earned for herself on the western side of the Mount of Olives, hag gone to England to seek among the Catholic ladies for t' ose who will join her in making • pilgrimage to Jerusalem, to pray at the tomb of our Saviour for the conversion of all Atheists and all sinners who have fallen away from the faith in every country. The pi incest, while on the Mount of Olives, lived in complete solitude, doing good among the poor ot Jerusalem, and helping to send their children to school.