How fine Luke's tale about small Zaccai,
Who sought to see the Master passing by,
"And could not for the press," so ran before
To climb the branches of a sycamore.
Our Lord looked up and hailed him as a friend;
He bade Zacchaeus speedily descend;
Who, coming, glowed with truly humble pride,
When told, "This day must I with thee abide."
So joy we when, despite the claims of sin,
The Christ-thought to our conscience enters in,
Abiding this and every other day,
If with Zacchaeus' humbleness we pray.
How soaring was the thought that prompted him
To lift himself aloft on leafy limb—
The thought that led him fairly to assess,
And humbly scale the heights of holiness.
The envious murmured, scoffers stood aloof,
As Jesus passed beneath Zacchaeus' roof
And spake aloud with gentle voice and grave,
"The Son of Man is come to seek, to save
The lost, as shepherd seeks the errant lamb;
And this is too a son of Abraham;"
Then told he how the faithful in things small
May rise to full dominion over all.
Little in height Zacchaeus was, and yet
He rose in stature; we must not forget
His eager climb above the dwarfing claim,
So that the gospel celebrates his name.
