O’er the Dark Wave of Galilee

O’er the dark wave of Ga­li­lee

The gloom of twi­light ga­thers fast

And on the wa­ters drea­ri­ly

Descends the fit­ful ev­en­ing blast.

The wea­ry bird hath left the air

And sunk in­to his shel­tered nest;

The wan­der­ing beast has sought his lair

And laid him down to wel­come rest.

Still near the lake with wea­ry tread

Lingers a form of hu­man kind;

And on His lone un­shel­tered head

Flows the chill night damp of the wind.

Why seeks He not a home of rest?

Why seeks He not a pil­lowed bed?

Beasts have their dens

the bird its nest;

He hath not where to lay His head.

Such was the lot He free­ly chose

To bless

to save the hu­man race;

And through His po­ver­ty there flows

A rich full stream of heav­en­ly grace.