She clapped her hands with joy, and cried, "Oh, there's the Wicket Gate, And I must seek admittance there, Before it is too late." Gently she knocks--'tis answered soon, And at the open door Stands a tall, stout man--poor Marian felt As she ne'er had felt before.
With tearful eyes, and trembling hand, Flushed cheek, and anxious brow, She said, "I hope you're Watchful, Sir, I want Discretion now."
"Oh yes, I'm watchful," said the man, "As a porter ought to be; I s'pose you've lost your way, young Miss, You've lost your shoe, I see.
"Missus," he cried to his wife within, "Here's a child here, at the door, You'll never see such a one again, If you live to be fourscore. She wants discretion, so she says, Indeed I think 'tis true; But I know some who want it more, Who will not own they do."
"Go to the Hall," his wife replies, "And take the child with you, The ladies there are all so wise, They'll soon know what to do." The man complied, and led the child Through many a flowery glade; "Is that the Palace Beautiful?" The little Pilgrim said.
"There, to the left, among the trees? Why, Miss, 'tis mighty grand; Call it a palace, if you please, 'Tis the finest in the land. Now we be come to the fine old porch, And this is the Marble Hall; Here, little lady, you must stay, While I the servants call."
Tired and sad he left the child, But he quickly re-appeared, And with him the lady of the house-- Poor Marian's heart was cheered. "Sweet little girl," the lady said, In accents soft and kind, "I'm sure you sadly want some rest, And rest you soon shall find."
To a room where three young ladies sat, The child was quickly led; "Piety, Prudence, and Charity," To herself she softly said. "What is your name, my little dear?" Said the eldest of the three, Whom Marian, in her secret thought, Had christened Piety.
"We'll send a servant to your friends, How uneasy they must be!" Admiringly she watched the child, Who, indeed, was fair to see; Around her bright and lovely face Fell waves of auburn hair, As modestly she told her name, With whom she lived and where.
"How did you lose your way, my love?" She gently raised her head; "I do not think I've lost my way," The little Pilgrim said.
"This is the Palace Beautiful, May I stay here to-night?" They smiled and said, "We're glad our house Finds favor in your sight:--