Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
IV. Sabbath: Worship: CreedWhat was his Creed?
Anonymous
H
In front of a poor woman’s door,
When the deep snow, frozen and white,
Wrapped street and square, mountain and moor.
That was his deed.
He did it well.
“What was his creed?”
I cannot tell.
In sitting down and rising up;
When more he got, he gave the more,
Withholding not the crust and cup.
He took the lead
In each good task.
“What was his creed?”
I did not ask.
Soft, white, and silent in its fall;
Not like the noisy winds that blow
From shivering trees the leaves,—a pall
For flowers and weed,
Drooping below.
“What was his creed?”
The poor may know.
For hungry people, young and old,
Hope he inspired; kind words he said
To those he sheltered from the cold.
For we should feed
As well as pray.
“What was his creed?”
I cannot say.
His faith in words he never writ;
He loved to share his cup and crust
With all mankind who needed it.
In time of need
A friend was he.
“What was his creed?”
He told not me.
Worked well with hand and head;
And what he gave in charity
Sweetened his sleep and daily bread.
Let us take heed,
For life is brief.
What was his creed—
What his belief?