Help me, O thou who wast my boyhood's guide,
I bend my exile-weary feet to thee,
Teach me the indivisible to divide,
Show me how three are one and One is three !
How Christ to save all men was crucified,
Yet I and mine are damned eternally.
Instruct me, Sage, why Virtue starves alone,
While falsehood step by step ascends the throne.

1. The Spanish noon is a blaze of azure fire, and the dusty pilgrims crawl Uke an endless serpent along treeless plains and bleached high- roads, through rock-split ravines and castellated, cathedral-shadowed towns.

2. The hoary patriarch, wrinkled as an al- mond shell, bows painfully upon his staff. The beautiful young mother, ivory -pale, well-nigh swoons beneath her burden ; in her large enfold- ing arms nesUes her sleeping babe, round her knees flock her little ones with bruised and bleed- ing feet. " Mother, shall we soon be there ? "

3. The youth with Christ -like countenance speaks comfortably to father and brother, to