I Saw His Face To-Day; He Looks A Chief Who Fears Not Human Rage, Nor Human Guile; Upon His Cheeks The Twilight Of A Grief, But In That Grief The Starlight Of A Smile. Deep, Gentle Eyes, With Drooping Lids That Tell They Are The Homes Where Tears Of Sorrow Dwell; A Low Voice -- Strangely Sweet -- Whose Very Tone Tells How These Lips Speak Oft With God Alone. I Kissed His Hand, I Fain Would Kiss His Feet; "No, No," He Said; And Then, In Accents Sweet, His Blessing Fell Upon My Bended Head. He Bade Me Rise; A Few More Words He Said, Then Took Me By The Hand -- The While He Smiled -- And, Going, Whispered: "Pray For Me, My Child."