The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-06-02

hoAUoi fOAcC, anu WulCu dpuly oOnOhOo
this holy lesson of Christion faith.
The Brotherhood of Mercy in Florence,
was an association of devoted men,
belonging to all social ranks, who
bound themselves to answer the sum-
mons Of certain bell at any time by
coming together with long black
masks over their faces and robes over
their clothing, so that all distinctions
of rank and person should be forgotten,
and then going together to any work of
mercy which might need their aid.
Piero Luca, 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, waited to lay down
Hislast sad burden, and beside his mat
The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat.
Unseen, in square and blossoming garden
drifted,
Soft sunset lights through green Val d'Arno
sifted;
Unheard, below, the living shuttles shifted
Backward and forth, and wove, in love or
strife,
In mirth or pain, the mottled web of life.
But when at last came upward from the street
Tinkle of bell and tread of measured feet.
The sick man started, strove to rise in vain,
Sinking back heavily with moan of pain.
| And the monk said, "'T is but the Brother
hood
| Of Mercy going on some errand good:
Their black masks by the palace wall see."
| Piero answered family, "woe is me
url.;e 10 g. Al
| In vain the bell hath sounded in my ears,
Calling me with my brethren of the mask,
Beggar and prince alike, to some new task
| OF love or pity,-haply from the street
| To bear wretch plague-stricken, or, with feet
| flushed to the quickened ear and feverish
brain,
| To tread the crowded laZaretto's floors,
Down the long twilight of the corridors,
Midst tossing arms and faces full of pain.
| loved the work it was its own reward.
| 1 never counted on it to offset
My sins, which are many, or make less my
debt
| To 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,
should not know myself, if lacking it,
! But with the work the worker too would die,
| And in my place some other self would sit
| Joyful or sad-what matters, if not L?
| And now, alPs over. Woe is me |"
| "My son."
| The monk said soothingly, "thy work is done
| And no more as a servant, but the guest
| Of God thou enterest thy eternal rest.
[ No toll, no tears, no sorrow for the lost
| Shall mar thy perfect bliss. Thou shalt sit
| down
Clad in white robes, and wear golden crown
| Forever and forever"
| Piero tossed
| On his sick-pillow: Miserable me-
| am too poor for such grand company;
The crown would be too heavy for this gray
Old head and God forgive me if 1 say
1t 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.
love my felow-men; the worst 1 know
| 1 would do good to. Will death change me SO
| That shall sit among the lazy saints,
| Turning deaf ear to the sore complaints
Of souls that suffer? Why, I never yet
Left poor dog in the strada hard beset,
Or ass o'erladen ! Must rate man less
Than dog or ass in holy selhshness
| Methinks Nord, pardon, if the thought be sin y
| The world OF pain were better, IL therein
Ones heart might still be human and desires
| OF natural pity drop upon it's fires
| Some cooling tears"
Thereat the pale monk crossed
| His brow, and muttering, "Madman thou art
lost !"
Took up his pyx and fed and. left alone,
The sick man closed his eyes with great
groan
| That sank into prayer, "Thy will be done T.
| Then, was he made aware, by soul or ear,
| OF somewhat pure and holy bending DER him,
| And of voice like that of her who bore him,
| Tender and most compassionate Never
fear
For heaven is love, as God himself is love
| Thy work below shall be thy work above"
| And when he looked, 10 in the stern monk g
| place
| He saw the shining of an angels face.