Yes, I said I would follow him,
Follow wherever he would guide:
From Jordan's brink to the wilderness,
From there to Galilee's shimmering side;
Or up from the sea to a mountaintop
To hear his sermon in the soft, sweet breeze;
Then through the cities and villages
Teaching and healing every disease;
Or giving food to the multitude,
Or walking across the sea at night,
Or on the mountain where he stood
Transfigured in immortal light.
But into Judea? to Jerusalem?
To face the scribes and the Pharisees?
Into the temple to whip out the thieves?
Should I be willing to face all these?
And would I sit at the sad Last Supper
And follow him out to Gethsemane,
Or go with him into Pilate's court,
Or carry the cross to Calvary?
Should I be willing to follow him
To the tomb itself, if such need be?
To the garden bathed in Easter light,
To the mount of ascent in Galilee?
How can I know how far I would go,
How well in his footsteps I would stay,
Except I begin to follow him now
In my thoughts, in my life, and to walk in his way?
