Classic Poem

A FLAME above his cradle hung —
A flame no earthly torch had lit —
And even as his cradle swung
His eyes would follow it.

And older, as he bent to turn
The book that held his heart, behold!
The shadow of a flame would burn
Across its page like gold.

And men reviled him in those days,
When from old creeds and tenets grim
He turned to follow through strange ways
The flame that beckoned him;

That flame that never burned above
The tall cathedral spire, but stood
Above that outcast flock his love
Had made a brotherhood.

And when before his judges flung,
Daring their council to be meek,
The live flame fell on lips and tongue
And, burning, bade him speak.

Hence, one day glorious with grace,
Men led him with bell, book, and prayer
Out to the crowded market-place
Where the heaped faggots were,

And lo! he saw his flame — his flame,
Spring from the pile men's torches lit.
Exultant to its light he came,
And gave himself to it.