 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
71
Nazareth
Here dwelt—His glory veiled—the Son of GodFor thirty years; in this enclosure green
Of Galilean hills the Power serene
Who framed the universe, and with a nod
Sent planets on their courses, meekly trod
The village street and lanes; and might be seen
Over His humble handicraft to lean,
Or pace in prayer the dewy mountain sod.
O mystery of godliness how great!
Obedience of a lifetime how complete!
Who now can murmur at his low estate,
Or who but feel the humblest duty sweet;
When “Is not this the Carpenter?” was heard
Of Him who had “built all things” with a word!
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