I love to read the tender, human story
Of Jesus there in far-off Galilee,
Of how they brought the sick to him at even,
When the cool breeze was blowing from the sea.
In thought, I seem to see the sunset's glory,
The ever changing hues of rose and gold;
And then the swiftly deepening twilight shadows
Of that dear holy time, my eyes behold.
I seem to hear the fall of hurrying footsteps,
To see the throng, so full of human woe,
And yet so full of faith to find their healing
From one who stood in that fair evening's glow.
