And he talked of the hills in their grandeur,
As sentinels watching mankind,
Of the plains and vales, of sunshine and flowers,
Which he only saw in his mind.
And he spoke of the poor and the lowly,
Of God’s mercy to such as he,
Of his gratitude to his Creator,
Gratitude, though he could not see.
And I stretched out my arms to that beggar,
From Syria, over the sea,