Excerpt from The Union of the Churches

Poor daubs! Not fit to be a chapel's treasure! Full many a taunting word upon them fell, But the good abbot let him, for his pleasure, Adorn with them his solitary Cell.

One night the poor monk mused: Could I but render. Honor to Christ as other painters do, Were but my skill as great as is the tender Love that inspires me when his cross I View!

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