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...THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LOVE NOT by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON LANDSCAPE; TWILIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 84. DHU'L JADAL WA'L IKRAM by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LAST MAN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SONNET: LOVE'S DEPTH by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |