A Legend

He walked alone beside the lonely sea,     The slanting sunbeams fell upon his face,     His shadow fluttered on the pure white sands     Like the weary wing of a soundless prayer.     And He was, oh! so beautiful and fair!     Brown sandals on His feet -- His face downcast,     As if He loved the earth more than the heav'ns.     His face looked like His Mother's -- only hers     Had not those strange serenities and stirs     That paled or flushed His olive cheeks and brow.     He wore the seamless robe His Mother made --     And as He gathered it about His breast,     The wavelets heard a sweet and gentle voice     Murmur, "Oh! My Mother" -- the white sands felt     The touch of tender tears He wept the while.     He walked beside the sea; He took His sandals off     To bathe His weary feet in the pure cool wave --     For He had walked across the desert sands     All day long -- and as He bathed His feet     He murmured to Himself, "Three years! three years!     And then, poor feet, the cruel nails will come     And make you bleed; but, ah! that blood shall lave     All weary feet on all their thorny ways."     "Three years! three years!" He murmured still again,     "Ah! would it were to-morrow, but a will --     My Father's will -- biddeth Me bide that time."     A little fisher-boy came up the shore     And saw Him -- and, nor bold, nor shy,     Approached, but when he saw the weary face,     Said mournfully to Him: "You look a-tired."     He placed His hand upon the boy's brown brow     Caressingly and blessingly -- and said:     "I am so tired to wait." The boy spake not.     Sudden, a sea-bird, driven by a storm     That had been sweeping on the farther shore,     Came fluttering towards Him, and, panting, fell     At His feet and died; and then the boy said:     "Poor little bird," in such a piteous tone;     He took the bird and laid it in His hand,     And breathed on it -- when to his amaze     The little fisher-boy beheld the bird     Flutter a moment and then fly aloft --     Its little life returned; and then he gazed     With look intensest on the wondrous face     (Ah! it was beautiful and fair) -- and said:     "Thou art so sweet I wish Thou wert my God."     He leaned down towards the boy and softly said:     "I am thy Christ." The day they followed Him,     With cross upon His shoulders, to His death,     Within the shadow of a shelt'ring rock     That little boy knelt down, and there adored,     While others cursed, the thorn-crowned Crucified.