[Written for the Sentinel]

At Sunset

At even, ere the sun had set
They came—the halt, the lame, the blind,
The sinful. Could it be that here
Each for his need some help might find?
This one! How many years since he
Had last beheld Gennesaret,
Had watched its water flush with gold
And crimson when the sun had set
As setting now, though not for him!
With groping hand he felt his way;
Was there, indeed, a power which could
Turn all his darkness into day?
And this one! Was it true that he
Could ever strength and vigor gain
Again to walk and know surcease
From agony and blinding pain?
This little child, so closely held
Against the longing mother-breast!
'T was Christ who said, Forbid them not,
Whom now she sought in eager quest.
And here an outcast! Scarce those eyes
Dared lift themselves his feet above;
Yet here, on this bowed head, his gaze
Dwelt with forgiving, yearning love.
And still they came, a motley throng!
And they were healed—healed every one.
Eyes that were blind beheld once more
The sunset turn the sea to gold
On Galilee's prophetic shore.
Limbs that had halted, bounded now;
And hands aloft in praise were flung.
Had e'er the sunset hour before
With greater joy and rapture rung?

Dear Christ, forever here and near,*
To-day, as by the sunset sea,
We hear thy voice, we heed thy call;
And gladly, freely, turn to thee,
Again to feel the healing touch,
Again to know that wondrous power,
Again to prove that Truth is here
As in that holy sunset hour.

*Poems by Mary Baker Eddy, page 29.

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