THE Master walked in Galilee, Across the hills and by the sea, And in whatever place he trod, He felt the passion of a God. The twelve, who deemed him King of men, Longed for the conquering hour, when The peasant's robe without a seam Should be the purple of their dream. Yet daily from his lips of love Fell words their thoughts as far above As wisdom's utmost treasure, piled Upon the stammering of a child. Like frost on flower, like blight on bloom, His speech to them of cross and tomb; Nor could their grieving spirits see One gleam of hope in Galilee. What booted it that he should rise, Were death to hide him from their eyes? What meant the promised throne divine, Were earth to be an empty shrine? Low drooped the skies above the band Too dull the Lord to understand. Alas! as slow of heart are we, Abiding oft in Galilee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMASSE EVE by ROBERT HERRICK PARRHASIUS by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS BEAUTIFUL EYES by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS AUTUMN MALADE by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE THE OUTCAST'S DREAM by OLIVE BELL CHRIST IS ALL by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR THE RABBI'S VISION by FRANCES BROWNE PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: CHARLES AVISON by ROBERT BROWNING |