It happen'd on a solemn eventide
Soon after he that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin'd.
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event;
They spake of him they lov'd, of him whose life
Tho' blameless, had incur'd perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The further trac'd, enrich'd them still the more;
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appear'd t' have done
T' exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die,
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend.
And ask'd them with a kind engaging air
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share.
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread,
And truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell
That, reaching home, the night, they said is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here.
The new acquaintance, soon became a guest
And made so welcome at their simple feast
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, 'T'was the Lord'!
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say.
Did they not burn within us by the way?
