Is. l. 6.
It
was on a winter's morning
In
the days of
old,
In
his cell sat Father Henry,
Sorrowful
and
cold.
"O
my Lord, I am aweary,"
In
his heart he
spake,
"For
my brethren scorn and hate me
For
Thy blessed
sake.
"If
I had but one to love me
That
were joyful
cheer--
One
small word to make me sunshine
Through
the darksome
year!
"But
they mock me and despise me
Till
my heart is
stung--
Then
my words are wild and bitter,
Tameless
is my
tongue."
Then
the Lord said, "I am with thee;
Trust
thyself to
Me;
Open
thou thy little casement,
Mark
what thou shalt
see."
Then
a piteous look and wistful
Father
Henry cast
Out
into the dim old cloister
And
the wintry
blast.
Was
it that a friend was coming
By
some Angel
led?
No!
a great hound wild and savage
Round
the cloister
sped.
Some
old mat that lay forgotten
Seized
he on his
way--
Tore
it, tossed it, dragged it wildly
Round
the cloister
gray.
"Lo,
the hound is like thy brethren,"
Spake
the Voice he
knew;
"If
thou are the mat, beloved,
What
hast thou to
do?"
Meekly
then went Father Henry,
And
the mat he
bare
To
his little cell to store it
As
a jewel
rare.
Many
a winter and a summer
Through
those cloisters
dim,
Did
he thenceforth walk rejoicing,
And
the Lord with
him.
And
when bitter words would sting him,
Turned
he to his
cell,
Took
his mat, and looked upon it,
Saying,
"All is
well.
"He
who is the least and lowest
Needs
but low to
lie;
Lord,
I thank Thee and I praise Thee
That
the mat am
I."
"On
the cold and footworn pavement
Lies
it still and
flat,
Raves
not if men trample on it,
For
it is a
mat."
Then
he wept, for in the stillness
His
Beloved
spake,
"Thus
was I the least and lowest,
Gladly,
for thy
sake.
"Lo,
My face to shame and spitting
Did
I turn for
thee;
If
thou art the least and lowest,
Then
remember
Me."
H. Suso.