'T WAS freezing keenly, and the blast
Went whistling round the hill,
And flakes of snow descended fast,
Upon the purling rill.

Before an ample casement stood,
A soldier, sternly bold,
To scan with eager eye the flood,
That 'neath his turrets roll'd;

For shiv'ring by its brink he spied,
A tottering, aged man,
Who oft had seen the seasons glide,
And now had reach'd his span.

The soldier had a melting heart,
Though darkly stern his mien,
And quickly would the tear-drop start,
Whene'er distress was seen.

He wrapp'd him in his doublet's fold,
And took his trusty blade,
And stood beside the beggar old,
In martial garb array'd:

In twain he cleft his mantle wide,
And gave its half away,
To wrap that beggar by his side,
On such a wintry day.

A beauteous dream was his that night,
To see a Seraph band,
And mid them all the Lord of Life,
In matchless beauty stand.

Around that Saviour's noble form,
The doublet's half was cast,
Then did his generous soul grow warm,
In musing on the past;

He woke in tears — his pillow wet;
That simple deed of love,
A sweet approving smile had met,
From the good Lord above.

That kindly act to Christ was done,
To Christ belong the poor,
So J ESUS PUT THE MANTLE ON ,
And smiled beside his door.

*****

An ancient tower is pealing forth
Its merry matin-tone,
And from the south to distant north,
Its service-call is known:

Who reads with deferential grace,
The lofty, thrilling prayer?
The features of a well-known face,
Are now enkindling there.

He has, 'tis true, a priestly stole,
His head with years is grey,
But his was once a soldier's soul:
Upon a wintry day,

His doublet's half to Christ he gave,
When once the poor he blest,
And then his priceless soul to save,
To Jesus' side he prest.

A Soldier once — a Bishop then,
In feeling heart the same,
The Church among her faithful men,
Now ranks St. Martin's name.