One who had that morning seen him, Seeking from their gaze to hide, Tried from heavy doom to screen him; But his reasons were denied.
He of other days was thinking,-- Happy days, and still so near!-- When that brother, shamed and shrinking, Had to all their souls been dear.
Others tried their hearts to harden, Felt their pity to be sin; Silent, prayed the Lord to pardon Kinder thoughts that rose within.
Some proposed and some objected, While, the long debate to end, One old Father they expected, And on him would all depend.
He--their honoured, best adviser-- Dwelt in desert cave retired; Older than the rest, and wiser: Many thought his words inspired;
Said he knew what passed within them When by sin or doubt assailed; True it is, his words could win them, Often, when all else had failed.
He would find what all were seeking, Justice pure, and judgment right! Still the abbot, seldom speaking, Pale and sober, prayed for light.
Light was sent! For, toiling slowly O'er the sun-baked desert road, Came that Father, wise and holy, Bent beneath a weary load!
Scarce his failing limbs sustained him, For the burden sorely pressed: Many times, as though it pained him, Would he stand to breathe and rest.
One who watched for his arriving, Went and told them he was near. Up they rose, and ceased their striving, In their joy such news to hear!
Then they all went forth and met him, By their reverent love compelled: Nevermore could one forget him, Who that day his face beheld!
Wasted, worn, yet strong to aid them; Peaceful, though by conflict tried; Shining with a light that made them Feel the Lord was by his side!
But it grieved their souls to see him By that burden bowed and strained! Many stretched their hands to free him, Wondering what the sack contained.
"Why this burden?" one addressed him; "All unfit for arms like thine!" He, while yet the weight oppressed him, Answered: "These are sins of mine.
"I must bear them all, my brother, Ever with me while I go On my way to judge another! These have made my journey slow."
Then the abbot, growing bolder, Raised the load with trembling hand From the Father's bended shoulder; Looked--and found it filled with sand.
Of them all, there was not any But was silent for a while; For the best had sins as many As the sand-grains in that pile!