The Master

WILLIAM H. WRIGHT

He walked in the paths of the lowly,
He sat at the rich man's feast,
With ever a word for the highest,
And ever a thought for the least.
In temple or market or byway,
'Mid sorrow and sickness and strife,
He toiled at his glorious canvas,—
The beautiful picture of Life.

He healed the sad hearts of the broken,
He strengthened the fainting and weak,
And never a cry from the stricken,
That he did not hear,—and did speak;
A staff to the hands of the doubter,
A guide to the swift feet of youth,
He fashioned his radiant pages,—
The beautiful story of Truth.

Compassionate, meek, and forgiving,
Unwearied he went to the end;
Of widow and orphan the comfort,
Of outcast and sinner the friend,
In stilling of anguish and discord,
In gift of the peace from above,
He sounded in cadences golden
The beautiful anthem of Love.