Classic Poem

A dozen sandaled saints I see
Walk the sad soil of Galilee.

Right loud I laud the humble land,
And the holy crop she grew.
Yet how I love my leech-fed Rome—
Her tubs and temples, too.
I'd die the death before I'd be
A sandaled saint of Galilee.

So runs our song. And you and I
The Shining One still crucify,
Spit in his face, and pass him by.

A dozen sandaled saints I see
Walk the sad soil of Galilee.

Right loud I laud the humble land,
—And the holy crop she grew.
Yet how I love my leech-fed Rome—
—Her tubs and temples, too.
I'd die the death before I'd be
A sandaled saint of Galilee.

So runs our song. And you and I
The Shining One still crucify,
Spit in his face, and pass him by.