And when at last He went up a Hill,
To seal His songs with the seal of Death,
Whose were the hands that were raised to kill
This brave young poet of Nazareth?
The man who thrust at His side I find
Was a man who saw Him heal the blind.
And the men who fed on the fish and bread
Were cheering the deed in the ranks behind.
But in a group which had drawn apart,
To pour their tears for His broken heart,
Were the ones who heard
His miracle word.
If all of the miracle deeds of Christ
Had proven birth in a womb of lies
My spirit would still with Him keep tryst
With faith as deep as the sun-washed skies.
But why should I doubt so simple a thing
As a miracle deed from a man who could sing
A miracle song that sheds its power
In a pure, white light to the world's last hour.
The temple bells ring out to-day
And the Pharisees pray
In their ancient way.
And the lips of the preachers love to tarry
On the virgin birth and the miracle deed;
But the temple bells I shall not heed;
For I am going with John and Mary
Out on the hills with the slender throngs
Who love to hear the Miracle Songs.