And whispered haltingly, their grievous news
To the queen. King Abgar slept and did not feel
The flow of burning tears that fell
Upon his wasted head; nor did he feel
The mother’s greying, gently stirring hair
With which she deftly wiped the tears away.
Suddenly, Abgar opened wide his eyes
And the room was filled with pure-white, blinding rays,
And He, who was to have been Abgar’s guest
Appeared in all the burning glory there
And with a tender voice of mystic dreaminess
He said to Abgar; “I came unto your house
To realize the wish you had expressed.
Your city is wondrous, dreaming in the grove,
But far more wondrous is my city, O King!
Come with me hence! Your soul will rest and heal.”
And while the mother, tremulous with grief,
Pressed Abgar’s body to her aching heart,
His soul went up with Christ. For he was not
Of those whose kingdom is upon the Earth.
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