Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/81

Rh Should pay the ransom wherewith we were priced;

And none could name a darker infamy

Than that a god was spit upon,—enticed

By those he came to save, to the accursèd tree,—

For this I know that Christ indeed is Christ.

THE SONG OF A HEATHEN

(SOJOURNING IN GALILEE, A. D. 32)

HOLY LAND

is the earth he walked on; not alone

That Asian country keeps the sacred stain;

Ah, not alone the far Judæan plain,

Mountain and river! Lo, the sun that shone

On him, shines now on us; when day is gone

The moon of Galilee comes forth again

And lights our path as his; an endless chain

Of years and sorrows makes the round world one.

The air we breathe, he breathed—the very air

That took the mold and music of his high

And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal dare