The Little Imbecile

A MAN slow climbed a wooded hill ;
An idiot boy was mounting too.
Before him ; near, and nearer still
The elder gradually drew.
The boy paused often looking back ;
His knees were tremulous and bent ;
With large vague eyes along the track.
Upon a sound he seemed intent.
He crooned out "Waggon" o'er and o'er,
For he could hear one far below,
Then turning mounted as before,
His weary footsteps planting slow !
The man appeared oppressed with care,
Gloomy, sin-burdened, and distraught;
He mused, "The little pilgrim there
Was born by accident, for nought !
Yea, what avails the vacant life,
A mere grim burden unto kin ?
Yet he eludes the bitter strife,
The wounded heart, the tyrant sin ! "
And now that they are near abreast,
The elder feels a sudden hand
Laid boldly in his own to rest,
A quiet, unashamed demand
For kindly help ; the boy who tires
Prefers unhesitating claim
On whom unreasoned faith inspires
To feel a friend, without the name.
The man supports the smiling child
With pleased amazement ; hear him cry—
' Forgive me, dear, if I defiled
Thine innocence with calumny !
Yet I for whom affection fails,
Who fail to others, wildered roam,
Am leaned on by the child who ails,
Who sees, confides, and feels at home.
I love thee for the confidence,
That lightens and sustains my heart ;
Through muffling mists, though ne'er so dense,
God's glory gleamelh, when they part !
White wings of Ruth embowered above,
Her breathing spheres thee like an air ;
Unfathomable maternal love
Rebukes the ravings of despair.
Thou quickenest dead hearts to bleed,
And poor grey listless lives to live ;
My blessing on the gentle need,
Unlocks the miser hand to give.
Compels the barren womb to breed,
Moves Heaven a damned soul to forgive !
No uses ! were it only this !
I see that all things have an end ;
The boy hath innocence and bliss,
Yea, higher help himself may lend,
Which will be known to him for his.
Remove thy shoes, adore, and bend ;
Around are holy mysteries ! "