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In purest white, the marble stature stands On a low hill beside the broad highway, With face benign, and blessing outstretched hands The figure fronts small whispering pines. And they Who stop awhile to look, can see the sun Tint the long, comely robe with glowing sheen, And may recall the timid, trembling one Who touched its hem in some long-vanished scene. To each a separate word, a silent sound. The spirit of remembered love and grace, Float from that lonely hilltop in profound and haunting visions, as the sculptured face looks down with penetrating, pitying gaze Upon our errors, heartache, old, old strife Again a Voice speaks hope to fear - filled days: "I am the Ressurrection and the Life". |
