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And yet he died. He could not have been
Christ.
And then what was he?
When I followed him,
The first great day he came among our hills
And talked of love and truth, he who was both
Whatever else he was, I knew at once
That God had sent him to us, and I thought
I felt God's voice bid me go forth with him.
Who was it sent me with him? Satan then
That I might murder him?
That black slow cloud,
Heavy on Calvary, looks ghastly now -
He might be in it, He, my lord, my friend.
If His face looked on me I should fall dead
Even if it should seem no more than man's.
I go in dread of that, and every sound
Has something of his voice in it. There's talk
As if he should appear still on the earth,
Stand life-like near the living, speak to them -
Great God! - nay 'tis my folly. That long sigh
Of wind among the olives is not new
That it should startle me. I've often sat
And listened to it when the night came on.
With its shrill breezy rustlings like the sea
We'd hear at home plashing on pebbly shores
Far from us, and it always seemed to me
To make me quieter as His voice did.
His voice! How every thought comes back to Him!
Next |
A Woman Sold
Bartimaeus
Judas
Pilate
The Walk To Emmaus
A Bride
A March Night
A Messenger
A Mother's Cry
A Wedding
Afterwards
Dead Amy
Deserted
Dreaming
Glad Waves
Going
How The Brook Sings
If
In The Storm
In The Sunshine
Looking Downstairs
Mary Lost
Never Again
Night Whispers
On The Lake
On The Shore
Our Lily
Passing Away
Perjured
Safe
Shadow
Sunlight
The Blush Rose
The Gift
The Heiress' Wooer
The Hidden Wound
The Lake
The Land Of Happy Dreams
The Old Year Out
The Red Star On The Hill
The River
The Setting Star
The Shadow Of A Cloud
To And Fro
To One Of Many
Too faithful
Two Maidens |
