THE WANDERERS
Reading edition
A little church through dusty trees Raised up its wooden spire, One of religion’s purities Amid our mortal mire, And one there came to open door Made timid by his sin, Made timid by the mark he wore, And dared not enter in. The while he paused he heard a whir— Beside him trembled down Another outcast wanderer, The swallow of the town. It fluttered through the open place, It mounted to the choir, Within the simple house of grace Poured forth its notes of fire. And he who lonely lingered heard And something fell away; He followed after singing bird Where sinners kneel to pray. Yea, there the old remembrance died And there the new began; For soon they worshipped side by side— The swallow and the man.