BEHOLD THE MAN
He was born in a little
village,
the child of a peasant
maid;
The son of a labouring
father,
a carpenter skilled,
by trade;
He was taught the craft of
his forebears,
and his prayers at his
mother's knee;
Learned from the book of
the prophets,
all the virtue and truth to
see.
He never attended a
college,
he never wrote a book,
But he loved the things of
nature,
his God he could find in a
brook,
Or in the archway of
heaven,
the trees,
the flowers of the field,
The stars in the
constellation,
to him their secrets would
yield.
He never had a home of his
own,
nor the blessings of
children or wife;
He never dwelt in the city,
for he loved the simple
life;
He was an itinerant
preacher,
but he never had a church;
He could hold by his power
the multitude,
while he the scriptures
would search.
He never traveled far
from home,
or the place where he was
born;
He loved to watch the
setting sun,
or the waking of the
dawn,
Of all the things that
make up life,
(the things we suppose),
He never knew the least
of them,
yet he could disclose
The beauties of the daily
life,
the goodness of the poor;
The virtues of an ardent
soul,
the fragrance of the
flower.
He never was associated
with the things that we call great.
He never sought for
eminence in the church or in the state;
He never painted a canvas
rare,
or ever fashioned a
stone,
Or wrote for man an
exquisite poem,
he seemed to stand alone;
He never had credentials,
or the things of earth
possessed,
He was filled with love
and kindness,
taught these,
nor e'er transgressed.
When the tide of public opinion turned
'gainst him,
friends turned away;
Given over to his enemies
for trial,
a mocking display.
He was nailed to a cross
and crowned,
(for in ignorance,
no one perceives),
And there he hung
bleeding and dying,
suspended between two
thieves.
There at the scene of His
Passion,
the soldiers of Rome
playing dice,
Gambling for his
possessions,
his raiment "the throw",
the price.
'Twas pity that gave the
donation,
a tomb,
his last resting‑place,
Given in commiseration,
that death should not
abase.
The years have passed and
He stands out,
the Central Figure Sublime;
The Leader of all human
progress,
the Exemplar of all time.
The armies that march on
the earth,
to watch and guard all that
be,
The navies that sail on the
ocean,
to protect our shores while
at sea,
All the Parliaments that
sit legislating,
all the Kings and the
Queens include,
Have not affected the life of a man
Like Him,
who once hung on the rood.
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