In The Temple

IN THE TEMPLE.

O'ER Judah's plains sweet Spring had
thrown
Her flowery robe of living green.
And Nature in her gala robes
Was mantled like a fairy queen.

High o'er the temple's burnished towers
The sunshine fell like molten gold,
And flamed and flashed from glittering spire,
From pinnacle and turret old.
While through the city's busy street
Echoed the tread of countless feet.

Far over Judah's hills they come,
From shepherd lad to stately priest,
To ancient Salem's gates they haste
To keep the sacred Paschal Feast.

Look, who is he, that youthful Lad, -
Standing within the temple fair?
Why do not Israel's sages know
That he — the Paschal Lamb — is there?

Strange blindness, that they knew him not, -
Those gray haired men, those learned
seers:
Useless the Rabbi's studied lore,
The vain philosophy of years.

From out those sacred, youthful lips
Flow wondrous words of heavenly lore, —
Such words of purity and grace
As man had never heard before.

And now, a kind, obedient Son,
No thought had he of earthly fame,
But 'mong the hills of Nazareth
A humble carpenter became.

He took our fallen nature; he
Who made the hosts which roll above
Of Abraham's frail seed partook,
In godlike sympathy and love.