If his presence was needed he'd surely be there.
He would weep with the mourner, rejoice with the gay,
And help, with a blessing, the poor on their way.
Untiring, incessant, he grudged every minute
That kept him from work—for his heart, it was in it!
The lark was too late with its carol so sweet,
As it soared in the morning the sunshine to greet;
The priest could not slumber so long on his bed,
For he knew that his Master had not, for his head,
A pillow to rest on; and he would not dare