Holy Land
Is this the stable crib in which was laid
The new-born Christ?. And was it here they came,
Those Ancient seers, who travelled far to meet
And honour Him with presents rich and rare?.
At this rude hut did Angels greet the birth
Of God’s own Person clothed in human flesh?.
Could it be true that, from this humble shed,
There issued out, into some peoples’ lives,
Their long-expected Hope, the promised Source
Of their Belief, their Saviour Jesus Christ?.
Is this the Countryside in which He lived?.
Did His firm feet tread daily these rough ways,
These dusty tracks?. And did He shelter here,
Beneath these stunted trees and dingy roofs,
From burning sun by day and chilling winds
At night?. And was it here He suffered so?.
Could it be true that, from this barren land,
There issued out, into some peoples’ lives,
Their never-ending Hope, the solid Rock
Of their Belief, their Saviour Jesus Christ?.
Is this the Sepulchre in which was placed
That Sacred Saviour’s body when He dropped,
All lifeless, from the bloody Roman Cross?.
Is this the spot where lay His royal head,
Torn by the living barbs which formed His Crown?.
Is this dark Cave the well-spring of their Faith?.
Could it be true that, from this cavern-mouth,
There issued out, into some peoples’ lives,
Their Resurrected Hope, the deathless Soul
Of their Belief, their Saviour Jesus Christ?.
Are these things real?. Or are they simple signs
Offered to mortal minds to point a path;
That, through such things, their souls might understand
Some portion of the Majesty of God;
His homely parables, which stand in place
Of mystic Truths too deep for human minds?.
I know not. Yet some do believe this Crib,
This Land, this Sepulchre, have symbolised
An enigmatic mystery of Hope
And Faith in human Immortality.
