Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/277

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Prelude to “The Nazarene.”
241
His common life. The sweat upon his browWas bitter human sweat; the heart we pierced,A heart that long had learnt the lonely wayThat breaking hearts must go.              And at the endThis is his chiefest glory—that he roseNo higher than the cross we built for him!
O that the world might know him as he was—The kindly teacher, the sweet, patient man,One of our human family, Mary’s son!
I cannot know the Christ; the time is late,And he that walked among us, sore at heart,Has faded from us, merged into a God.
The sweet familiar Nazarene is lostBeneath the waving of fine priestly hands;His tender, troubled face looks dimly outAcross the incense-smoke; I cannot hearHis quiet tones beneath the breathless throbOf vast, sonorous organs; and the bruisedAnd wounded body we would weep uponIs covered from our pitying gaze with stiffAnd costly vestments; he is buried deepIn piles of carven stone, and lies forgottenBeneath the triumph of cloud-questing spires.
His simple kindliness and frequent smile —The sweet humanity that was the Christ—Is frightened by the stillness and the awe,And drowned in the vast hush of solemn aisles.The light strays feebly through the rich-hued panes;I cannot recognize the Man who loved
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