With him too gracious Pity made her home,
And furled her sad soiled wings in sweet content,
Forgetful that it is her lot to roam
From age to age in woeful banishment.
His small heart seemed to her no narrow space,
But, like God’s many mansions, wide and fair;
And so she chose it for a resting-place,
And hospitably she was harboured there.
And grateful for the boon, she taught him lore
Of heaven, and how the tender angels know
The merciful are blest for evermore,
Although the wise and prudent say not so;
And how God holds him least among the least
Who is not pitiful to bird and beast.