III.

The years are met as milestones upon a winding road,

And some slip by like shadows, and some are fair with flowers;

And some seem dreary, hopeless — a leaden chain of hours —

And some are like a heart-throb, and some a heavy load,

The thief, a thief no longer, a lonely figure strode

Heart-weary down life's pathway, through tempest and through showers,

But always prayed that somewhere among sweet- scented bowers,

A Baby's smile might show him where happiness abode.

For he was often hungry — a thief, reformed, must eat —

And there were folk who shunned him, and turned his plea away;

And there were those who scourged him from out the market place —

( They were the ones who told him to earn his bread and meat! )

Yet ever he walked onward, and dreamed of some fair day

When he would find the Christ-Child with love upon

His face!