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| THE MASTER, welcome as the light, | |
| Moved on his path of miracle;— | |
| The lame man leaped, disease was well, | |
| Day broke on orbs of life-long night; | |
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| The leper’s skin grew soft and clean; | 5 |
| The ruined brain was built afresh; | |
| And in the spirit-vanished flesh | |
| There stirred the life that once had been. | |
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| ’Twas mercy in each mighty act | |
| To dying bodies, anguished souls, | 10 |
| And that with sovereign word controls | |
| To peace the sea by tempests racked. | |
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| Mercy! Yet see the fig-tree dead; | |
| From deepest rootlet to the twig | |
| That should have borne the highest fig | 15 |
| Quick-withered at the word He said. | |
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| He cursed that tree with death, and why? | |
| He smote not cruel men and strong | |
| Who smote Him with the hand and thong, | |
| Nor looked a curse from withering eye. | 20 |
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| I asked the blasted tree to give | |
| The answer why, it seemed to say, | |
| “His voice rebellious men could slay, | |
| That bade me, fruitless, cease to live: | |
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| To show that He had power to kill | 25 |
| The men He came to save, and saves, | |
| He smote them not into their graves, | |
| But wrought in me His mortal will.” | |
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