What thinkest thou of Christ? I ask thee not
For a pronouncement on His lineage:
It may be thou hast not one certain thought
Gathered concerning this from Sacred Page;
But like the once blind beggar blest with sight
Thou hast not learned the greatness of the One
Who put an end to thy long lone dark night,
Nor dreamed that thou hast looked upon THE SON.
What thinkest thou of Christ? nor do I ask
For answer the dead dogma of a creed,
Which serves a guilty ignorance to mask
But strangles conscience and the cry of need:
Like Judah’s scribes, who wist not He must die
To break the cruel power that man oppressed,
Nor His resurgence understood, nor why
David his Son in spirit Lord confessed.
What thinkest thou of Christ? nor ask I thee
His excellencies wondrous to dilate;
But tell me that without Him heaven would be
An arid waste, a region desolate:
Like one to whom the Creditor in grace
A multitude of trespasses forgave,
Thy highest heaven—the brightness of His face:
Thy greatest glory—that thou art His slave.