With steady steps he passes down the Street, Wearing a gown whose folds cannot conceal The massive Mrength andgrace of every limb; And, looking in the clear cut face, you feel The power of mind. The lips are set by fato, Deep eyes are steels' gray, andwfild and free; You think of him, swathed inthebattle's mist. Setting the stars of brute-won victory. In sacred ofBees no sign he makcs That in his veins the fires of passion glow; That lnvc or hate or leadership of men Have any place beneath his stole of snow. Down quiet aisles of the cathedral vast. Voiled in the light of sacred censers dim, He slowly leads the clear voiced choristers, Chanting, in ringing toncs, the evening hymn. And thcn, when silence falls, his voice alone Lifts up, as if sodio long lost day to groet. Did sorrow, sin, or love, with careless eyes, Teach hün to sing with voice so true and 8weet ? Who knows the heart of man ? The passing day Flashes a gleam of glory ere it dies; Above the singer is a golden ray That seems to bear his voice beyond the sk i est. With bauners and with lighfs he passes on; The pageant fades, anotlier voice is there, ■ Calling for peaee and graco on all the world; In cchoes sweet you miss the earuest prayer. Filled with the niystery of passing life, The song still lingers with you, soft and low, Stilling the strife that mars the tattcred heart, With absolution from its doepest woe. He bears no burden here, says that one song, Yet inborn fame all time and place defles ; You see upon his head the crown of bays, The leader Uves within his piercing eyes. Perchance he long ago laid down the sword. Content to leave the path ambition trod. And in the army of the holy cross, To strive in peace to lead lost souls to God.