Every day a Pilgrim, blindfold,
When the night and morning meet,
Entereth the slumbering city,
Stealeth down the silent street;
Lingereth round some battered doorway,
Leaves unblest some portal grand,
And the walls, where sleep the children,
Toucheth, with his warm young hand.
Love is passing! Love is passing!--
Passing while ye lie asleep:
In your blessed dreams, O children,
Give him all your hearts to keep!
Blindfold is this Pilgrim, Maiden.
Though to-day he touched thy door,
He may pass it by to-morrow--
--Pass it--to return no more.
Let us then with prayers entreat him,--
Youth! her heart, whose coldness grieves,
May one morn by Love be softened;
Prize the treasure that he leaves.
Love is passing! Love is passing!
All, with hearts to hope and pray,
Bid this pilgrim touch the lintels
Of your doorways every day.
[Decoration]
[Decoration]