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!