He walked in the earth and the heaven,
The Lord in his raiment bright;
His robe is crimson at even,
It is gold in the morning light--
And it trails on the dusky mountains
With a silver fringe at night.
High over the people thronging
Is the light of his pure, calm face;
Can the uttermost need and longing
Come fronting that awful face?
But to touch the beautiful garment
Is a comfort and a grace.
The tender sweep of the grasses
Is smoothing away the smart;
And the light soft wind that passes
Is a balm to the very heart.
Only the hem of his garment!
But I kiss it for my part.
The seamless blue and the border,
Where the earth and the heaven meet;
And the colors in mystic order
In the broideries round his feet;
Is but the hem of his garment--
But virtue is there complete.
He turns, and I am not hidden,
And he smiles and blesses low;
Did the gift come all unbidden?
O, to think He would not know
(Through even the hem of his garment)
It was faith that touched him so!
