Then said the curate, “God be good to thee.” 
And, straight, the little child put forth his hand,
And touched him.  “Master, master, hush! 
You should not, master, speak so carelessly
In this great presence.” 
                          But the touch so wrought,
That, lo! the dazzled curate staggered back,
For dread effulgence from the beggar’s eyes
Smote him, and from the crippled limbs shot forth
Terrible lights, as pure long blades of fire. 
“Withdraw thy touch! withdraw thy touch!” he cried,
“Or else shall I be blinded.”  Then the child
Stood back from him; and he sat down apart,
Recovering of his manhood:  and he heard
The beggar and the child discourse of things
Dreadful for glory, till his spirits came
Anew; and, when the beggar looked on him,
He said, “If I offend not, pray you tell
Who and what are you—­I behold a face
Marred with old age, sickness, and poverty,—­
A cripple with a staff, who long hath sat
Begging, and ofttimes moaning, in the porch,
For pain and for the wind’s inclemency. 
What are you?” Then the beggar made reply,
“I was a delegate, a living power;
My work was bliss, for seeds were in my hand
To plant a new-made world.  O happy work! 
It grew and blossomed; but my dwelling-place
Was far remote from heaven.  I have not seen;
I knew no wish to enter there.  But lo! 
There went forth rumors, running out like rays,
How some, that were of power like even to mine,
Had made request to come and find a place
Within its walls.  And these were satisfied
With promises, and sent to this far world
To take the weeds of your mortality,
And minister, and suffer grief and pain,
And die like men.  Then were they gathered in. 
They saw a face, and were accounted kin
To Whom thou knowest, for he is kin to men.

“Then I did wait; and oft, at work, I sang,
‘To minister! oh, joy, to minister!’
And, it being known, a message came to me: 
’Whether is best, thou forest-planter wise,
To minister to others, or that they
Should minister to thee?’ Then, on my face
Low lying, I made answer:  ’It is best,
Most High, to minister;’ and thus came back
The answer,—­’Choose not for thyself the best: 
Go down, and, lo! my poor shall minister,
Out of their poverty, to thee; shall learn
Compassion by thy frailty; and shall oft
Turn back, when speeding home from work, to help
Thee, weak and crippled, home.  My little ones,
Thou shalt importune for their slender mite,
And pray, and move them that they give it up
For love of Me.’”
                    The curate answered him,
“Art thou content, O great one from afar! 
If I may ask, and not offend?” He said,
“I am.  Behold!  I stand not all alone,
That I should think to do a perfect work. 
I may not wish to give; for I have heard
’Tis best for me that I receive.  For me,