JUDÆUS ERRANS
He hath no place to rest his head.
O happy nations, weep indeed.
He is forlorn till he be dead.
O pity him his wretched meed,
His wounds that bleed.
There is no resting in his eyes,
And he hath scars upon his feet.
He is a stranger to all skies.
He walks sad-eyed along the street,
And shadow-wise.
For with the dawn must he depart,
And with the sunset make his way.
All day he bears an aching heart,
All night his aching sorrows stay,
Yea, night and day.
Then look a moment as he goes,
A little sadly, in his eyes.
For there are written all the woes,
And a surprise.
For he is sadder than God knows.