Erelong in the heavenly race outran

The older, milder, and wiser man.

Two years he dwelt with his agèd friend,

Then made a blessèd and peaceful end;

And, when his penitent life was done,

The hermit wept as he would for a son!

Ten years had over the mountain passed,

Since that poor mountebank breathed his last,

Helped, to the end, by a woman's prayer,

Ten years; and the hermit still was there.

Grown older, thinner, with shoulders bent,

He seldom forth from his shelter went.

But those he had helped in former days

With prayers and counsel, in thousand ways,

Were mindful of him, and brought him all

He needed now, for his wants were small.

And happy they were their best to give,

If only their mountain saint would live!

For in his living their lives were blest;

And if he longed for the perfect rest,

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