By day he taught them on the temple floor
The lore of love, the love of God for men.
They came in thousands, and their sick they bore
On beds or biers to touch his hand, and then
They worshiped him when he had eased their pain.
And all men marveled, all beheld his might;
But he bade each give praise in humble strain
To God, the Father of the sons of light,
For all, said he, are sons, though wanderers of the night.
And when the day was sunk within the west,
There was a mount of somber-suited trees
Above the city, on whose rugged crest
Were dusky woodlands, and he found in these
A safe concealment in their umbrages.
Thither the twelve departed; there they sought
Fit solitude of soul, a brief heart's-ease,
And consolations of reposeful thought;
There, 'neath the stars of peace, their peaceful prayers they brought.
And soon—how soon!—above the thankless city
Thence he o'ergazed with eyes aglow with tears:
If thou at least hadst known—alas, the pity!—
The things that are thy peace!—Which of the seers
Have ye not stoned in history's awful years?
Fain, like a bird beneath my brooding wings,
I would have soothed your sufferings, calmed your fears,
And healing brought for sorrow's torn heart-strings;
But ye would not! and now the midnight curfew rings.
