been

About those deserts blown ! How many strange vicissitudes has

seen,

How many histories known!

Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite

Trampled and passed it o'er, When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight

His favorite son they bore. Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare,

Crushed it beneath their tread ; Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air

Scattered it as they sped;

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth

Held close in her caress, Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith

Illumed the wilderness;

blast,

This little golden thread Dilates into a column high and vast, A form of fear and dread.

Then the sombre village crier, Ringing loud his brazen bell, Wandered down the street proclaiming

There was an estray to sell.

And the curious country people,
Rich and poor, and young and
old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous
Winged steed, with mane of gold.

Thus the day passed, and the evening

Fell, with vapors cold and dim; But it brought no food nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall for him.