Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1867-03-13

Piero Luea, known Of all the town
! As the gray porter by the Pitt wall
/ Where the noon shadows Of the gardens fall,
| Sick and in dolOr, wanted to lay down
His last sad burden, aud beside his mat
The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat.
Unseen. in square and bIOssOming garden
drifted.
sOft sunset lights through green Val d'ArnO
Guheard, below. the living shuttIe-shifted
Backward and forth, and woye, in love or strife.
In mirth or pain, the mottled web Of life;
But when at last came upward from the street
Ilnkle Of bell and tread of measured feet,
The sick man started. strove to rise in vain,
Sinking back heavily with a moan Of pain.
And the monk said. ''Tis but the Brotherhood
VI Mercy going on some errand good:
Their black masks by the palace wall see.
PIerO answered family, Woe is mel
This day for the first time in forty years
In vain the bell hath sounded in my ears,
Calling me with my brethren Of the mask.
Bsggar and prince alike, TO some new task =
OF love or pity,-hOly from the street
10 bear wretch, plagGe-strieken. or with feet
flushed to the quiekened ear and feverish brain,
To tread the crowded lazarettO's floors,
Down the long twilight Ofthe corridors,
Midst tossing arms and faces full of pain,
/ love the work il was its own reward,
l never counted on it to Offset
My sins, which are many or make less my debt
10 the free grace and mercy of our Lord;
But somehow, father, it has come to be
In these long years so much part Of me.
But with the work the worker, too, would die,
And in my place some other self would sit
joyful or sad,-what matter. if not I?
And now all over. woe is meP'-"My son"
The monk said sOOthingiy, Thy work Is done :;
And no more as a servant, but the guest
VI God thou enterests thy eternal rest,
NO toll no tears, no SORROW for the lost
snail mar thy perfect bliss, Thou shalt sit down
Clad in white robes. and wear golden crUWn-
Forever and forever PerO tossed
On his sick pillow; Miserable mel
7 nm ~ for nah or,d1
The crown would be too heavy for this gray
Old head and God forEive me If l say
II would be hard to sit there night and day,
Like an image in the Tribune. doing naught
With these hard hands, that all my life have
wrought,
Not for bread only. but for PHYS sake.
I m dull at prayers; could not keep awake,
Counting my beads. Mines but a crazy head,
Scarce worth the saving, # all else he dead,
And one goes to heaven without heart
God knows he leaves behind his better part
i love nay fellOw-men; the worst know
would do good to. Will death change me so
That 1 shall sit among the lazy saints,
Turning deaf ear TO the sore complaints
OF souls that suferf Why, never yet
Left poor dOgin the stTada hard beset.
Or ass O'erladenl Must rate man less
Than dog or ass. in holy selfshness
Methinks (Lord, pardon. if the thought be sin D
The world Of pain were better, if therein
Ones heart miEhtst,ll be human. and desires
Of natural pity drop upon its fires
Some cooling tears.
Thereat the pale monk crossed
His brow, and. muttering. -MAdmant thou art
lost !"
Took up his pyx and fed; and, left alone.
The siek man closed his eyes with a great groan
lh.t sank into prayer, "ThyEin be doneF
Then was he made aware, By soul or ear,
| Of somewhat pure and holy bending DER him.
| And Of a voice like that Of her who bore him,
/ Tender and most eOmpassi0nate: Never fear
For heaven is love, as God himself IS love:
| Thy work below shall be thy work above"
And when he looked. loi in the stern monk
| place
he saw the shining Of the angels face.