"INASMUCH."
A stranger passes this way at night
When the earth is laid to rest:
He pauses before each cottage door
Like a long expected guest.
Is it only a ray of the white moonlight
That falls on the dewy ground?
Or is it the gleam of a Kingly Robe
That sheds such radiance round?
He pauses before each cottage door
When the silence is still and deep:
There are souls that work and souls that rest,
And souls that must watch and weep.
Is it only the track of the children's feet
That has furrowed the roadway there?
Or is it the print of a Piercéd Foot
That was heavy with human care?
Then to those who weep, and to those who sleep,
And to those who watch and wake,
There comes the touch of a tender Hand
For a suffering stranger's sake.
Is it only the breath of the balsam pine
That is filling the midnight vale?
Or is it the balm of a Healing Calm
That sweetens the perfumed gale?
For a stranger came to these gentle souls,
And a sick heart craved for rest:
They gave her their love and they gave her their care
And they gave her of all their best.
Is it only the wind in the waving pines
Or the sound of the distant sea?
Or is it the voice of the Stranger Guest—
"Ye did it unto Me."