Who saw him passing, did often say,

What a mournful look the old man had!

And his very voice was changed and sad.

Troubled he was, and much perplexed;

With endless doubting his mind was vexed.

What—He? A mountebank? Both the same?

What could it mean to his soul but shame?

Had his forty years been vainly spent?

And then, alas! as he onward went,

There came an evil and bitter thought,—

Had he been serving the Lord for nought?

But in his fear he began to pray,

And the black temptation passed away.

Perhaps the mountebank yet might prove

To have a soul in the Master's love.

He almost felt that it must be so,

In spite of a life that seemed so low.

Perhaps he was forced such life to take,

It might be, even for conscience' sake;

Some cruel master the order gave,

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