A PARABLE.

A YOUTH caught up an aged pilgrim on the way
Of life, and to him said: 'My father, tell me, pray,
Where Paradise may lie, that I may thither speed.'
The old man halted, and thus answered him: 'Indeed,
The road I know full well, my son look on before—
Yonder is Paradise, and yonder is the door.'

Thereat, off sped the youth, with bounding step to fly
Towards the portal.

The old man.

But loud after him did cry

'Not so; Paradise must entered be

On crutches, and with gouty feet, as done by me.'

BLIND AUSTIN. (5)

In a lonely hut, a shepherd

Lived to God with tranquil mind,
Cherished by an only daughter,
And the aged man was blind.

Five and twenty years had vanished Since God shut the shepherd's eyes, Since he saw the waving meadows, And the ever-changing skies.

Never had his eyes, unclouded,

Looked upon the simple child,

That in tender growing beauty

On the old man beamed and smiled.

But with open heart, undarkened,

Gently would poor Austin say,

'God, who pleased to give me vision, At His pleasure took away.'

Hour by hour he tarried, kneeling,
With dark orbs upon the sky,
Wrapped in silent contemplation,
Praying, praising inwardly.

When the evening shadows gathered,
And the weary world was calm,
At his casement lingered Austin,
Singing low his vesper psalm.

Said the maiden, one day, 'Father!
I have heard, on yonder hill

Is a chapel for poor pilgrims,
Where is healed each mortal ill.

'There the deaf recover hearing,

There the lame foot leapeth light,

There the feeble gather vigour,

There the blind regain their sight.'

Hearing this, the old man trembled: 'Oh, that sight were given me ! That the glory of creation

Once again these eyes might see.

'See the yellow sun of summer,

And the moon and stars of night,

See the ruddy firelight flicker,

See again all gladdening light.

'See the hawthorn in the hedges,
And the daisy at my feet,
See the scarlet poppies winking
In the waving amber wheat.

'See my little crumbling cottage, And the misty smoke upcurl ;

See thee, whom I clasp and cling to— Thee, my own dear little girl!'

Through the weary night he wakened, Tossing fevered on his bed,

Sighing, 'Oh, were light of heaven

On these darkened eyeballs shed!'

Forth he sped at early morning;

To that shrine his way to grope, Heeding not the toilsome journey, In the eagerness of hope.

Lo! he kneels in Mary's chapel,
Weary, wayworn, faint, footsore,
With his tremulous arms expanded,
Praying on the sacred floor.

'Holy Saviour, only succour ! Ope my eyes that I may see! Gentle Mary, Virgin Mother!

In compassion pray for me!'

Then a sudden cry of rapture,

And a glad ecstatic thrill

Flowed the light whence long excluded, Seeming all his frame to fill.

Now he saw the rustic altar,

With its flowers and candles six,

And the ruby star which glimmered

Wavering before the pyx.