A poet lived in Galilee,
Whose mother dearly loved him--
And his beauty like a cooling tree
Drew many people to him.
He loved the speech of simple men
And little children's laughter,
He came--then always came again.
He went--they followed after.
He had sweet-hearted things to say,
And he was solemn only
When people were unkind ... that day
He'd stand there straight and lonely,
And tell them what they ought to do:
"Love other folk," he pleaded,
"As you love me and I love you!"
But almost no one heeded.
A poet died in Galilee,
They stared at him and slew him ...
What would they do to you and me
If we could say we knew him?
