Report of Board of Cteneeal Managers. 63 



DEDICATION POEM : TWO PICTURES. 



By William H. McEleoy. 



I. 



There's a picture the ages shall cherish till time has been shorn of his might, 

 And dawns the unspeakable moi'ning which never is vanquished by night, 

 No shrine ever builded by mortals that wonderful picture shall hold, 

 It shall hang in the Pantheon peerless, that's builded of memory's gold! 



At the gate of the Heaven-kissed convent where want never pleaded in vain. 

 In the beautiful land of the Virgin, the heart of the garden of Spain, 

 A stranger is timidly knocking who begs, as he humbles his head, 

 For the child whose hand he is holding, " Good friars, a morsel of bread." 



Impoverished, unhonored, unfriended, he wanders a pilgrim forlorn. 

 His pathway resounds with the laughter and bleeds with the briers of scorn. 

 So wearied and bafflud behold him, an exile, derided, reviled. 

 As he stands at the gate of the convent, beseeching a crust for his child. 



The blessed Franciscans console him, the arms of their love open wide. 

 They succor with Christ-like compassion the child pressing close to his side. 

 But the pity they feel for the beggar dies out in o'er-whelming surprise, 

 As they see that fome vision transcending suffuses with rapture his eyes. 



Then the prior, soft speaking adjures him, this beggar of mystical mien, 

 " Thy vision — we pray thee, unfold it ; what is it thy spirit has seen ? 

 Thine eyes are beholding a glory — hast climbed where the Law-giver trod ? 

 Has the firmamcEt read thee its riddles, hast stood in the presence of God ? " 



The beggar smiles calm on the friars, and, moved by their earnest behest, 

 Slow turns and with infinite yearning looks sadly and long at the west ; 

 Then he answers, " Wouldst know of my vision ? Good fathers, I hear 



and obey — 

 I've seen it, I seek it, I'll find it, the way leading west to Cathay ! 



" That vision uplifts and sustains me, it shines with so ardent a glow, 

 Each mount of despair as it rises is gone, like the sun- smitten snow ; 

 And, lo, the delectable mountains I seem to be treading the while. 

 Whose summits are crimson for ever with Heaven's ineffable smile." 



That picture the ages shall cherish, its colors fade not with the years. 

 Humanity turns to it fondly and cons it through tenderest tears ; 

 Behold him, the marvelous dreamer, behold him, the jeered and reviled. 

 As he stands at the gate of the convent, beseeching a crust for his child ! 



