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127. Through His Poverty Made Rich

On the dark-wave of Galilee
The gloom of twilight gathers fast;
And o’er the waters heavily
Sweeps cold and drear the evening blast.

Still near the lake, with weary tread,
Lingers a form of human kind;
And on his lone, unsheltered head,
Flows the chill night-damp of the wind.

Why seeks he not a home of rest?
Why seeks he not the pillowed bed?
Beasts have their dens, the bird his nest;—
He hath not where to lay his head.

Such was the lot he freely chose,
To bless, to save, the human race;
And through his poverty there flows
A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.

Text Information
First Line: On the dark-wave of Galilee
Title: Through His Poverty Made Rich
Author: Russell
Meter: L. M.
Language: English
Publication Date: 1866
Tune Information
(No tune information)

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