In solemn state the holy week went by,
  And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
  The presence of an angel, with its light,
  Before the sun rose, made the city bright,
  And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,
  Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
  Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,
  With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw;
  He felt within a power unfelt before,
  And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
  He heard the rustling garments of the Lord
  Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.

  And now the visit ending, and once more
  Valmond returning to the Danube’s shore,
  Homeward the angel journeyed, and again
  The land was made resplendent with his train,
  Flashing along the towns of Italy
  Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. 
  And when once more within Palermo’s wall,
  And, seated on his throne in his great hall,
  He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
  As if the better world conversed with ours,
  He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
  And with a gesture bade the rest retire;
  And when they were alone, the angel said,
  “Art thou the king?” Then bowing down his head,
  King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
  And meekly answered him:  “Thou knowest best! 
  My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
  And in some cloister’s school of penitence,
  Across those stones that pave the way to heaven
  Walk barefoot till my guilty soul is shriven!”
  The angel smiled, and from his radiant face
  A holy light illumined all the place,
  And through the open window, loud and clear,
  They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
  Above the stir and tumult of the street: 
  “He has put down the mighty from their seat,
  And has exalted them of low degree!”
  And through the chant a second melody
  Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 
  “I am an angel, and thou art the king!”

  King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
  Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! 
  But all apparelled as in days of old,
  With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;
  And when his courtiers came they found him there
  Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

SERVICE.

    FROM “PIPPA PASSES.”

  All service ranks the same with God: 
  If now, as formerly he trod
  Paradise, his presence fills
  Our earth, each only as God wills
  Can work—­God’s puppets, best and worst,
  Are we; there is no last nor first.

  Say not “a small event”!  Why “small”? 
  Costs it more pain than this, ye call
  A “great event,” should come to pass,
  Than that?  Untwine me from the mass
  Of deeds which make up life, one deed
  Power shall fall short in or exceed!