He looked, and saw in the sun-lit air

An angel, floating on wings of white;

Nor did he wonder at such a sight:

For angels often had come to cheer

His soul, and he thought them always near.

Happy and humble, he bowed his head,

And listened, while thus the angel said:

"Go to the nearest town, and there,

To-morrow, will be in the market square

A mountebank, playing his tricks for show:

He is the man thou hast prayed to know;

His soul, as seen by the light divine,

Is neither better nor worse than thine.

His treasure on the celestial shore

Is neither less than thine own nor more."

Next day, in the dim and early morn,

By a slippery path that the sheep had worn,

The hermit went from his loved abode

To the farms below, and the beaten road.

The reapers, out in the field that day,

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