If all of the miracle deeds of Christ Had proven birth in a womb of lies My spirit would still with Him keep tryst With faith as deep as the sun-washed skies. But why should I doubt so simple a thing As a miracle deed from a man who could sing A miracle song that sheds its power In a pure, white light to the world's last hour. The temple bells ring out to-day And the Pharisees pray In their ancient way. And the lips of the preachers love to tarry On the virgin birth and the miracle deed; But the temple bells I shall not heed; For I am going with John and Mary Out on the hills with the slender throngs Who love to hear the Miracle Songs. End of Project Gutenberg's The Miracle Songs of Jesus, by Wilson MacDonald