Hear a word that Jesus spake Nineteen hundred years ago, Where the crimson lilies blow Round the blue Tiberian lake:
There the bread of life He brake, Through the fields of harvest walking With His lowly comrades, talking Of the secret thoughts that feed
Weary souls in time of need. Art thou hungry? Come and take; Hear the word that Jesus spake! ‘ Tis the sacrament of labour, bread and wine divinely blest;
Friendship's food and sweet refreshment, strength and courage, joy and rest. But this word the Master said Long ago and far away, Silent and forgotten lay
Buried with the silent dead, Where the sands of Egypt spread Sea-like, tawny billows heaping Over ancient cities sleeping,
While the River Nile between Rolls its summer flood of green Rolls its autumn flood of red: There the word the Master said,
Written on a frail papyrus, wrinkled, scorched by fire, and torn, Hidden by God's hand was waiting for its resurrection morn. Now at last the buried word By the delving spade is found,
Sleeping in the quiet ground. Now the call of life is heard: Rise again, and like a bird, Fly abroad on wings of gladness
Through the darkness and the sadness, Of the toiling age, and sing Sweeter than the voice of Spring, Till the hearts of men are stirred
By the music of the word,— Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer's cry: “Raise the stone, and thou shall find me; cleave the wood and there am I.”
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