Now knew they both what man was there,
And cared they not what Hand had led,
And the tracker lifted his eyes in prayer,
And the tracked man found his voice and said:
“Now here is my breast and here the knife,
But hear my word, my last in life,
And there above is Heaven’s dome,
And then ye may hurry the hot blade home.
“Now the Forty-Year is sped and past
And glad am I to behold your face,