He walked alone beside the lonely sea, The slanting sunbeams fell upon his face, His shadow fluttered on the pure white sands Like the weary wing of a soundless prayer.
And He was, oh! so beautiful and fair! Brown sandals on His feet — His face downcast, As if He loved the earth more than the heav'ns. His face looked like His Mother's — only hers
Had not those strange serenities and stirs That paled or flushed His olive cheeks and brow. He wore the seamless robe His Mother made — And as He gathered it about His breast,
The wavelets heard a sweet and gentle voice Murmur, “Oh! My Mother” — the white sands felt The touch of tender tears He wept the while. He walked beside the sea; He took His sandals off
To bathe His weary feet in the pure cool wave — For He had walked across the desert sands All day long — and as He bathed His feet He murmured to Himself, “Three years! three years!
And then, poor feet, the cruel nails will come And make you bleed; but, ah! that blood shall lave All weary feet on all their thorny ways.” “Three years! three years!” He murmured still again,
“Ah! would it were to-morrow, but a will — My Father's will — biddeth Me bide that time.” A little fisher-boy came up the shore And saw Him — and, nor bold, nor shy,
Approached, but when he saw the weary face, Said mournfully to Him: “You look a-tired.” He placed His hand upon the boy's brown brow Caressingly and blessingly — and said:
“I am so tired to wait.” The boy spake not. Sudden, a sea-bird, driven by a storm That had been sweeping on the farther shore, Came fluttering towards Him, and, panting, fell
At His feet and died; and then the boy said: “Poor little bird,” in such a piteous tone; He took the bird and laid it in His hand, And breathed on it — when to his amaze
The little fisher-boy beheld the bird Flutter a moment and then fly aloft — Its little life returned; and then he gazed With look intensest on the wondrous face
( Ah! it was beautiful and fair ) — and said: “Thou art so sweet I wish Thou wert my God.” He leaned down towards the boy and softly said: “I am thy Christ.” The day they followed Him,
With cross upon His shoulders, to His death, Within the shadow of a shelt'ring rock That little boy knelt down, and there adored, While others cursed, the thorn-crowned Crucified.
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