Boy And the Angel, The Analysis

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.

There have been no submitted criqiques, be the first to add one below.