ALONG the shores of far-famed Galilee, 

The day, in dying, folds the dun rocks in 

A softened haze. Beyond, the barren plains 

Uplift unpeopled deserts from the sea, 

In patient waiting for unbidden rains. 

E'en snow-crowned Hermon fades into the dim, 

Soft distance. Here, some ruined cities lie 

Upon the pebbled shores, their broken walls 

Lapped by the sacred waves; their quiet streets 

Unguarded, save by lonely, dark-plumed palms. 

Now with the falling night deep silence falls 

And broods o'er Gennesaret. Outlines meet 

And melt together, gaining greater charms 

Through faintness; Galilee grows dark as wine 

Below the hills that frame an opal sky.

Through settling dusk one lustrous star flames in out,

And arrow-beams of light along the line 

Of Galilee. Another burns on high, 

And soon the darkling, rarely tinted sky, 

Star-gemmed, bends o'er the solitary sea, 

Which shivers back the light from shifting waves, 

In broken gleams, and star-beams sliding out.

O sacred sea! That by divine command 

Upbore the blessed Jesus on thy breast; 

Thou, whose bright shores the Master's feet have pressed

So many centuries agone, give back 

Some token of the years that are no more; 

Some sign of blessing dropped by that dear hand, 

Which, lifted, turned the tempests from their track;

Some whisper of that mystery divine 

Yon desolate hills did witness on this shore; 

Some certain comfort for all future time, 

Some glory for all nations to adore.

Most rash! The nearness of antiquity 

Rebukes the wish to know what must not be; 

And only warm winds stir the sleeping sea 

That holds the key to much of mystery.

 Mary N. Hawley.