I see a simple, truthful man,
Who walks the earth erect,
Nor stoops His noble head to one
From fear or false respect.
He seeks to climb no high estate,
No low consent secure,
With high and low serenely great,
Because His ends are pure.
Nor walks alone, beyond our reach,
Our joy and grief beyond;
He counts it joy divine to teach
When human hearts respond.
And grief divine oft woke in Him
O'er souls that lay and slept;
"How often, O Jerusalem!"
He said, and gazed, and wept.
Hid in His heart some spring of grace
Flowed silent through the din;
The sorrow-cloud upon His face,
Was lighted from within.
Love was His very being's root,
And healing was its flower,
Love only, root, and flower, and fruit—
Beginning, end, and power.
