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THE RECONCILER.
      And since this garment old
And fretted by the moth Thy love hath borne
Upon Thee, all that wear it in its fold
With Thee enwrapt and gathered, have grown bold,
To Thee and to each other closer drawn;
   Pale grows our purple pride
   Beside this vesture dyed
In Kingly blood; before our common name
We feel our titles but a gorgeous shame,
That doth betray, not clothe, our nakedness;
   But Heaven and Earth have been
   More near, since Earth hath seen
Its God walk Earth as Man; since Heaven hath shown
   A Man upon its throne;
   The street and market-place
   Grow holy ground; each face—
   Pale faces, marked with care,
   Dark, toil-worn brows—grows fair;
King's children are these all; though want and sin
Have marred their beauty glorious within,
We may not pass them but with reverent eye;
As when we see some goodly temple graced
To be Thy dwelling, ruined and defaced,
The haunt of sad and doleful creatures, lie
Bare to the sky, and open to the gust,
It grieveth us to see This House laid waste,—
It pitieth us to see it in the dust!

      Our dreams are reconciled,
Since Thou didst come to turn them all to Truth: