The Going of His Feet

His feet went here and there
About the common earth.
He touched to grandeur all
Men held of little worth.

He loved the growing flowers,
The small bright singing birds,
The patient flocks of sheep,
The many-pastured herds,

The field of rippling corn
That shimmered in the sun,
The soft blue smoke of eve
That curled when day was done. . . .

He did not search a-far
For what He had to say:
His mind reached forth and drew
Its strength from every day:

The struggling nets, alive
With fish drawn from the sea
Supplied Him with the apt
And chosen simile. . . .

He saw a neighbour build
A house that did not stand—
And men may not forget
The House Upon The Sand;

He saw a widow drop
Her mite into the hoard—
And to eternity
That treasure is up-stored;

He heard a publican
Who thought none other there—
The souls of all mankind
Are richer for that prayer. . . .

O, Poet of The World,
I pray Thee, come to me,
That my lame heart might walk,
That my dark soul may see;

And teach me, too, to go
About the ways of earth
And find the Wealth of God
In things of little worth!
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