Zacchaeus

    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.