Till in my terror called I Him, who bore
    The whole world’s sin upon His sinless soul,
Saying:—“O mighty Heart, whose Godhead wore,
    E’en as a garment, all our pain and dole,
Touch Thou my soul with fire; and let there be
Some meed of Godhead even unto me!”

Then from the purple dark I saw arise,
    Silent, the pale form of the Nazarene,
With deathless light of message in His eyes,
    And that vast human pity in His mien,
Purer than purest depths of summer skies,
Not less unfathomed and not less serene.

“Brother,” He answered, “Wilt thou call to Me
    As to a God and worship where I tread?
Cold were the splendour of My victory
    If, dowered with Godhead, I for man had bled,
Who fell, a warrior battling in the van,
To prove to men what man can do for man.”

“For thro’ all Ages, on untrodden ways,
    Heart-sick and weary in the desperate fight,
Earth shall bring forth the harvest of her days—
    Her strong deliverers leading to the light.
And all who follow Truth and who have trod
Her bitter pathways are the Sons of God!”