Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/277
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Prelude to “The Nazarene.”
241
His common life. The sweat upon his brow
Was bitter human sweat; the heart we pierced,
A heart that long had learnt the lonely way
That breaking hearts must go.
And at the end
This is his chiefest glory—that he rose
No higher than the cross we built for him!
Was bitter human sweat; the heart we pierced,
A heart that long had learnt the lonely way
That breaking hearts must go.
And at the end
This is his chiefest glory—that he rose
No higher than the cross we built for him!
O that the world might know him as he was—
The kindly teacher, the sweet, patient man,
One of our human family, Mary’s son!
The kindly teacher, the sweet, patient man,
One of our human family, Mary’s son!
I cannot know the Christ; the time is late,
And he that walked among us, sore at heart,
Has faded from us, merged into a God.
And he that walked among us, sore at heart,
Has faded from us, merged into a God.
The sweet familiar Nazarene is lost
Beneath the waving of fine priestly hands;
His tender, troubled face looks dimly out
Across the incense-smoke; I cannot hear
His quiet tones beneath the breathless throb
Of vast, sonorous organs; and the bruised
And wounded body we would weep upon
Is covered from our pitying gaze with stiff
And costly vestments; he is buried deep
In piles of carven stone, and lies forgotten
Beneath the triumph of cloud-questing spires.
Beneath the waving of fine priestly hands;
His tender, troubled face looks dimly out
Across the incense-smoke; I cannot hear
His quiet tones beneath the breathless throb
Of vast, sonorous organs; and the bruised
And wounded body we would weep upon
Is covered from our pitying gaze with stiff
And costly vestments; he is buried deep
In piles of carven stone, and lies forgotten
Beneath the triumph of cloud-questing spires.
His simple kindliness and frequent smile —
The sweet humanity that was the Christ—
Is frightened by the stillness and the awe,
And drowned in the vast hush of solemn aisles.
The light strays feebly through the rich-hued panes;
I cannot recognize the Man who loved
The sweet humanity that was the Christ—
Is frightened by the stillness and the awe,
And drowned in the vast hush of solemn aisles.
The light strays feebly through the rich-hued panes;
I cannot recognize the Man who loved