Ce Qui Semble et Ce Qui eSt

By GABRIEL MAILLOUX

A man in splendor and glory enthroned sat, Strong of arm and noble of brow, Great armies there were at his call, Field of grain and commissariat.

But Harsh was he, a man heartless and cruel, A slave he held at nothing, A regime of terror, the cold crown’s wearer, An iron-handed rule. And at his door sat a beggar, Half-dead of afflicted skin, Life in body barely held by the meager bread given Rare time upon king and servants’ whim.

But Kind was he, a gentle man, Who accepted what came his way, And gloried God above all things, And prayed that light upon him would shine one day. But what will come to all men came upon them both, And the Reaper will have his harvest, “Mourir, c’est la Vie,” As the saying quoth. The king in the flame of cleansing fire writhed, raggedly breathed, Waiting for man’s prayer to aid atone, While the beggar sat on saintly throne. And there is wonder on Earth and Heaven, at the marvel of the thing, Tis king who is beggar, and beggar who is like king!