The Christ of the Andes
What gleams so bright on the mountain-top
In the rise and set of the sun?
What rapture of song do the rivers shout,
As down through the hills they run?
The Beautiful Feet have come, have come,
Of him who publisheth Peace!
Who saith to the lands, The Good God reigns,
And the hells of War shall cease!
The angel-song in the skies of old
At last is echoed of men:
The Beautiful Feet have come, have come, —
O never to go again!
Why linger there on the mountain-tops?
Come down to the plain, the shore,
To the noisy mart, to the plotting kings,
And travel the wide earth o'er.
Come into our hearts, O Beautiful Feet,
And man from his hate release!
The world is weary; it listens, it longs
For the foot-fall bringing Peace.
In the rise and set of the sun?
What rapture of song do the rivers shout,
As down through the hills they run?
The Beautiful Feet have come, have come,
Of him who publisheth Peace!
Who saith to the lands, The Good God reigns,
And the hells of War shall cease!
The angel-song in the skies of old
At last is echoed of men:
The Beautiful Feet have come, have come, —
O never to go again!
Why linger there on the mountain-tops?
Come down to the plain, the shore,
To the noisy mart, to the plotting kings,
And travel the wide earth o'er.
Come into our hearts, O Beautiful Feet,
And man from his hate release!
The world is weary; it listens, it longs
For the foot-fall bringing Peace.
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