And back to the town the poet came, And took His feet to the temple's hall, And heard the boast of a man named Saul; And He heard Saul mock, In a fiery tongue, The sweetest songs which His heart had sung. But Jesus of Nazareth, then and there, Could scarce forbear From a fond embrace, Knowing the beauty the man should wear At another time, in another place. The critics were many in Jesus' day; And His songs were scorned by the caustic pen. He did not write in the Grecian way; And He knew not how to preach or pray In a way approved of men. His themes were bad by the Roman chart, And His metres all were wrong; For all of the High Priests had their art, And He had only His song. Now few of the people cared to hear The Poet blow on His starry reeds; So He took His gift from the soul's high sphere-- The miracle song that few would hear-- And lowered His power, In a hopeless hour, And made men cower At His miracle deeds. A miracle deed is a simple thing To a miracle song or a miracle truth. Yet they marvelled not that a song could bring To the veins of Time the world's lost youth. And two were gathered and sometimes three To hear the poet of Galilee. But the mob swept down like leaves in a storm When they heard the miracle man would perform. And the lame men walked and the blind men saw; And the dead men breathed by a strange, new law. But they were few to the far-flung throng Who saw and breathed through the poet's song. When they sat and fed on the fish and bread Five thousand men was an easy count; And the deed was done; But to-morrow's sun Will still bring throngs to the Pulpit-Mount. And I am sure that John or Mary Cared not a whit when He walked the sea. But I am sure that they loved to tarry And hear the Poet of Galilee. And of the throng that around Him pressed 'Twas John and Mary that He loved best. And when the Poet sat down, to choose The men to take to the world His news, He sought no men who had held their dishes To catch His gift of the loaves and fishes. But He chose them out of the purer throngs Who came to hear His miracle songs. And when at last He went up a Hill, To seal His songs with the seal of Death, Whose were the hands that were raised to kill This brave young poet of Nazareth? The man who thrust at His side I find Was a man who saw Him heal the blind. And the men who fed on the fish and bread Were cheering the deed in the ranks behind. But in a group which had drawn apart, To pour their tears for His broken heart, Were the ones who heard His miracle word.