I wish you could ha’ seen him when he came back, fresh and glowing,
His clothes all worn and seedy, and his face all fat and knowing;
I wish you could ha’ heard him, when he prayed for us who sent him,
Paying back with compound int’rest every dollar that we’d lent him!
’Twas a feast to true believers—’twas a blight on contradiction—
To hear one just from Calvary talk about the crucifixion;
’Twas a damper on those fellows who pretended they could doubt it,
To have a man who’d been there stand and tell ’em all about it!
Why every foot of Scripture, whose location used to stump us,