And beheld the convent bright
With a supernatural light,
Like a luminous cloud expanding
Over floor and wall and ceiling.

But he paused with awe-struck feeling
At the threshold of his door,
For the vision still was standing
As he left it there before,
When the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Summoned him to feed the poor,
Through the long hour intervening
It had waited his return,

And he felt his bosom burn,
Comprehending all the meaning,
When the Blessed Vision said,
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!"

The Leper.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.

"Room for the leper! room!"-And, as he came, the cry passed on "Room for the leper! room!"-Sunrise was slanting on the city's gates, rosy and beautiful; and from the hills the early risen poor were coming in, duly and cheerfully, to their toil; and up rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum of moving wheels, and multitudes astir, and all that in a city murmur swells-unheard but by the watcher's weary ear, aching with night's dull silence; or the sick, hailing the welcome light and sounds, that chase the death-like images of the dark away. "Room for the leper!" And aside they stood-matron, and child, and pitiless manhood,—all who met him on his way,—and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, a leper with the ashes on his brow, sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip a covering,-stepping painfully and slow; and, with a difficult utterance, like one whose heart is with an iron nerve put down, crying, "Unclean! Unclean!"

'Twas now the first of the Judean autumn; and the leaves, whose shadows lay so still upon his path, had put their beauty forth beneath the eye of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young, and eminently beautiful; and life mantled in elegant fulness on his lip, and sparkled in his glance: and in his mien there was a gracious pride that every eye followed with benisons ;-and this was he!

With the soft air of summer there had come a torpor on his frame; a drowsy sloth; day after day he lay as if in sleep; his skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales, circled with livid purple, covered him.-And Helon was a leper! He put off his costly raiment for the leper's garb, and, with the sackcloth round him, and his lip hid in a loathsome covering, stood still... waiting to hear his doom: "Depart! depart, O child of Israel, from the temple of thy God; for He has smote thee with His chastening rod; and, to the desert wild, from all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee, that from thy plague His people may be free. Depart! and, when thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, lift up the prayer beseechingly to Him, who, from the tribes of men, selected thee to feel His chastening rod. Depart, oh leper! and forget not God!"

And he went forth-alone! Not one of all the many whom he loved, nor she whose name was woven in the fibres of his heart, breaking within him now, to come and speak comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, sick, and heart-broken, and alone-to die! for God had cursed the leper!

It was noon, and Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool in the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, hot with the burning leprosy, and touched the loathsome water to his fevered lips; praying that he might be so blessed-to die!-Footsteps approached; and, with no strength to flee, he drew the covering closer to his lip, crying "Unclean! Unclean!" and, in the folds of the coarse sackcloth, shrouding up his face, he fell upon the earth till they should pass. Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er the leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name, "Helon!"-The voice was like the master-tone of a rich instrument,-most strangely sweet; and the dull pulses of disease awoke, and, for a moment, beat beneath the hot and leprous scales with a restoring thrill !- "Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse and rose and stood before Him.

Love and awe mingled in the regard of Helon's eye, as he beheld the Stranger. He was not in costly raiment clad, nor on His brow the symbol of a princely lineage wore; no followers at His back, nor in his hand buckler, or sword, or spear;—yet, if He smiled a kingly condescension graced His lips, a lion would have crouched to in his lair. He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, as if His heart were moved; and, stooping down, He took a little water in His hand, and laid it on his brow, and said, “Be clean!" And lo! the scales fell from him; and his blood coursed with delicious coolness through his veins; and his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow the dewy softness of an infant's stole: his leprosy was cleansed; and he fell down prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped Him.

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;
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.

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 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,

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,
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.

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,
And ever 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 mine ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear:

"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 The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,

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,
Till on his life the sickness weighed ;

And in his cell, when death grew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer :

And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.

To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.