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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Morning, evening, noon and night, ``Praise God!; sang Theocrite. Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned. Hard he laboured, long and well; O'er his work the boy's curls fell. But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, ``Praise God!'' Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew. Said Blaise, the listening monk, ``Well done; ``I doubt not thou art heard, my son: ``As well as if thy voice to-day ``Were praising God, the Pope's great way. ``This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome ``Praises God from Peter's dome.'' Said Theocrite, ``Would God that I ``Might praise him, that great way, and die!'' Night passed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. With God a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day. God said in heaven, ``Nor day nor night ``Now brings the voice of my delight.'' Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, Spread his wings and sank to earth; Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well; And morning, evening, noon and night, Praised God in place of Theocrite. And from a boy, to youth he grew: The man put off the stripling's hue: The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay: And ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content. (He did God's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.) God said, ``A praise is in mine ear; ``There is no doubt in it, no fear: ``So sing old worlds, and so ``New worlds that from my footstool go. ``Clearer loves sound other ways: ``I miss my little human praise.'' Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell. 'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome. In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery, With his holy vestments dight, Stood the new Pope, Theocrite: And all his past career Came back upon him clear, Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed; And in his cell, when death drew near, An angel in a dream brought cheer: And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here. To the East with praise he turned, And on his sight the angel burned. ``I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell ``And set thee here; I did not well. ``Vainly I left my angel-sphere, ``Vain was thy dream of many a year. ``Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--- ``Creation's chorus stopped! ``Go back and praise again ``The early way, while I remain. ``With that weak voice of our disdain, ``Take up creation's pausing strain. ``Back to the cell and poor employ: ``Resume the craftsman and the boy!'' Theocrite grew old at home; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome. One vanished as the other died: They sought God side by side.
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