THE WALK TO EMMAUS.
O'er fair Judea's vine-clad hills,
At early morn there strayed
Two weary, wayworn travellers,
In pilgrim's garb arrayed.
At early morn there strayed
Two weary, wayworn travellers,
In pilgrim's garb arrayed.
Of many a furrow, deep and long,
Their brows the traces bore,
But grief was in their bosoms now
They ne'er had felt before.
Their brows the traces bore,
But grief was in their bosoms now
They ne'er had felt before.
And on, with weary step and slow,
They plod their homeward way,—
Till lengthening shadows o'er the hill
Bespeak the closing day.
They plod their homeward way,—
Till lengthening shadows o'er the hill
Bespeak the closing day.
Then one the mournful silence broke,
While on his breast there fell
A tear, that spoke of agony
He had not dared to tell.
While on his breast there fell
A tear, that spoke of agony
He had not dared to tell.
