CHARLEMAGNE, the mighty monarch, As through Metten wood he strayed, Found the holy hermit, Hutto, Toiling in the forest glade. In his hand the woodman's hatchet, By his side the knife and twine, There he cut and bound the fagots From the guarled and stunted pine. Well the monarch knew the hermit For his pious works and cares, And the wonders which had followed From his vigils, fasts, and prayers. Much he marvelled now to see him Toiling thus, with axe and cord; And he cried in scorn, "O Father, Is it thus you serve the Lord?" But the hermit, resting neither Hand nor hatchet, meekly said: "He who does no daily labor May not ask for daily bread. "Think not that my graces slumber While I toil throughout the day; For all honest work is worship, And to labor is to pray. "Think not that the heavenly blessing From the workman's hand removes; Who does best his task appointed, Him the Master most approves." While he spoke the hermit, pausing For a moment, raised his eyes Where the overhanging branches Swayed beneath the sunset skies. Through the dense and vaulted forest Straight the level sunbeam came, Shining like a gilded rafter, Poised upon a sculptured frame. Suddenly, with kindling features, While he breathes a silent prayer, See, the hermit throws his hatchet, Lightly, upward in the air. Bright the well-worn steel is gleaming, As it flashes through the shade, And descending, lo! the sunbeam Holds it dangling by the blade! "See, my son," exclaimed the hermit, -- "See the token Heaven has sent; Thus to humble, patient effort Faith's miraculous aid is lent. "Toiling, hoping, often fainting, As we labor, Love Divine Through the shadows pours its sunlight, Crowns the work, vouchsafes the sign!" Homeward slowly went the monarch, Till he reached his palace hall, Where he strode among his warriors, He the bravest of them all. Soon the Benedictine Abbey Rose beside the hermit's cell; He, by royal hands invested, Ruled, as Abbot, long and well. Now beside the rushing Danube Still its ruined walls remain, Telling of the hermit's patience And the zeal of Charlemagne. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAFT DAYS by ROBERT FERGUSSON THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS by FRANCIS HOPKINSON A STRIP OF BLUE by LUCY LARCOM THE VINE by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II DESCRIPTIONS by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN NIGHT AFTER NIGHT by GERTRUDE BLOEDE |