Niels Larsen Stevns
To whom the heavy burden clings,
It yet may serve him like a staff;
One day the cross will break in wings,
The sinner laugh a holy laugh.
The dwarfed Zacchaeus climbed a tree,
His humble stature set him high;
The Lord the little man did see
Who sought the great man passing by.
Up to the tree he came, and stopped:
‘To-day,’ he said, ‘with thee I bide.’
A spirit-shaken fruit he dropped,
Ripe for the Master, at his side.
Sure never host with gladder look
A welcome guest home with him bore!
Then rose the Satan of rebuke
And loudly spake beside the door:
‘This is no place for holy feet;
Sinners should house and eat alone!
This man sits in the stranger’s seat
And grinds the faces of his own!’
Outspoke the man, in Truth’s own might:
‘Lord, half my goods I give the poor;
If one I’ve taken more than right
With four I make atonement sure!’
‘Salvation here is entered in;
This man indeed is Abraham’s son!’
Said he who came the lost to win-
And saved the lost whom he had won