Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE LIKENS HIMSELF TO A PILGRIM

The pilgrim, pallid and with hair grown gray,
Takes leave of the sweet spot where life was dear,
And of his little family whose great fear
Paints the loved parent fainting on the way;
Then trembling in his body's broken clay,
Upon the verge of his last vigil here,
Sustained by his soul's purpose burning clear,
He steps, though years and leagues by night and day
Oppress him. But his pious love finds Rome
Somehow at length; he seeks the Face Divine
Which soon he hopes to see in Kingdom Come:
So Lady, so I go to seek the shrine —
Your face — in others, hoping for one crumb
To give my heart a taste of Palestine!