" The hermit said
"With God I dwell.
"Alone with Him in this great calm,
I live not by the outward sense;
My Nile his love, my sheltering palm
His providence."
The child gazed round him. "Does God live
Here only?--where the desert's rim
Is green with corn, at morn and eve,
We pray to Him.
"My brother tills beside the Nile
His little field; beneath the leaves
My sisters sit and spin, the while
My mother weaves.
"And when the millet's ripe heads fall,
And all the bean-field hangs in pod,
My mother smiles, and, says that all
Are gifts from God."
Adown the hermit's wasted cheeks
Glistened the flow of human tears;
"Dear Lord!" he said, "Thy angel speaks,
Thy servant hears."
Within his arms the child he took,
And thought of home and life with men;
And all his pilgrim feet forsook
Returned again.
The palmy shadows cool and long,
The eyes that smiled through lavish locks,
Home's cradle-hymn and harvest-song,
And bleat of flocks.
"O child!" he said, "thou teachest me
There is no place where God is not;
That love will make, where'er it be,
A holy spot.
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