"Father, I am come back—Thy will
Is sometimes hard to do."
From all the multitude so still,
A sound of weeping grew.
And mournful-glad came down the One,
And kneeled, and clasped His child;
Sank on His breast the outworn man,
And wept until he smiled.
And when their tears had stilled their sighs,
And joy their tears had dried,
The people saw, with lifted eyes,
Them seated side by side.
5.
I lay and dreamed. Three crosses stood
Amid the gloomy air.
Two bore two men—one was the Good;
The third rose waiting, bare.
A Roman soldier, coming by,
Mistook me for the third;
I lifted up my asking eye
For Jesus' sign or word.
I thought He signed that I should yield,
And give the error way.
I held my peace; no word revealed,
No gesture uttered nay.
Against the cross a scaffold stood,
Whence easy hands could nail
The doomed upon that altar-wood,
Whose fire burns slow and pale.
Upon this ledge he lifted me.
I stood all thoughtful there,
Waiting until the deadly tree
My form for fruit should bear.
Rose up the waves of fear and doubt,
Rose up from heart to brain;
They shut the world of vision out,
And thus they cried amain: