"And though I give all my goods to feed the poor, and 

have not charity, I am nothing."

Two pilgrims came to a castle gate,

A gate locked fast and barred; 

They paused aweary, for it was late,

And their journey had been hard. 

Two pilgrims, I say, yet all unlike,

For one with haughty mien 

And kingly step, paced up and down

The little strip of green, 

The green that bordered the castle gate; 

The other, meek and sweet, 

Leaned by a pillar, resting thus 

His tired and wounded feet; 

His soft eyes wandered o'er the fields

He strove so hard to win; 

"And am I worthy," he murmured low, 

"Worthy to enter in?”

The Warder came to the castle gate 

The gate locked fast and barred; 

His look searched keenly the pilgrims through,

And his voice was cold and hard: 

"Only the rich can enter here."

A struggling, hopeless sigh, 

And he that leaned by the castle gate

Sank down as if to die.

"Here, Warder, is gold; " and the gold poured out,

And rolled on the strip of grass; 

"Nothing is lacking; unbar the gate,

Unlock it and let me pass." 

The Warder stood on the other side.

With measured speech and cold: 

"I spake of riches, yet said I 

Nothing to thee of gold."

Then he that lay by the castle gate,

As one lies who is dead, 

Felt the pulse of his heart revive, 

And he raised his languid head. 

Lo, the Warder was hard no more; 

His eye had the look of a dove. 

"Thou must be rich, but the coin," he "said, 

"In my master's realm is love."

Then he that paced with the haughty step

On the little strip of green, 

Gathered his gold, and went away,

And never more was seen; 

And the gate flew open so wide and far

That a troop might freely pass 

To him who lay with his wealth of love

Fainting upon the grass.

Mrs.. M. F. Butts