Eighth Grade

He parted in twain his single crust,
He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink,
And gave the leper to eat and drink,
'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread,
'T was water out of a wooden bowl,---
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed
And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty
soul.

VII
As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face,
A light shone round about the place;
The leper no longer crouched at his side,
But stood before him glorified,
Shining and tall and fair and straight
As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,---
Himself the Gate whereby men can
Enter the temple of God in Man.

VIII
His words were shed softer than leaves from the
pine,
And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the
brine,
That mingle their softness and quiet in one
With the shaggy unrest they float down upon;
And the voice that was softer than silence said,
"Lo, it is I, be not afraid!
In many climes, without avail,
Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail;
Behold, it is here,----this cup which thou
Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now;
This crust is my body broken for tree,
This water His blood that died on the tree;

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