I lie in wait, upon the hill,
		Upon its slopes green still.
‘Tis, the grass, and her I lay,
		And hope that he will stay.
I see him now, his Godly face,
		His wondrous lambent eyes
Amongst the hungry, restless crowd,
		Who listen with heads bowed.
At first he seemed so out of place,
		For he it is who flies
Where other men trudge slowly on,
		Yet soon he will be gone.
So each each one he tries to teach,
		To lead them all to light,
Each one he seeks to touch, to reach,
		To give these eyeless sight.
He speaks forgiveness, love, and joy,
		Yet knows it is too late:
‘Tis him they soon will kill, destroy.
		He knows it is his fate
To die, and yet his is the way,
		To live with love each day.
Not Death nor dying does he fear, 
		He waits for them at ease,
And while he waits, the people hear,
		Each word of his they seize.
Upon my robes they sit and wait,
		And thus he does relate:

                                       1975

	Blessed are the poor in spirit, 
	The kingdom of heaven is theirs.
	Blessed are they who mourn, 
	They shall be comforted. 
	Blessed are the meek, 
	They shall inherit the earth. 
	Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, 
	They shall be satisfied. 
	Blessed are the merciful, 
	They shall obtain mercy. 
	Blessed are the pure of heart, 
	They shall see God. 
	Blessed are the peacemakers, 
	They shall be called children of God. 
	Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, 
	Theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
                                        Matt 5:3-10