J OSEPH'S son was a carpenter lad
Who died at thirty-three.
They deemed, because of a way he had,
He should be nailed to a tree.
For he liked to make folk good, and glad,
On the roads of Galilee.

His spirit was hale as the sweet, fresh wood
He used to plane and trim;
And the little children (who understood),
They always clung to him:
He spoke of a dream of Brotherhood —
Men hung him on a limb.

Do they understand him yet to-day,
Centuries afterward?
The child-like do, you can hear them say,
" Master, we love thy word "
But, oh, how the others go their way,
As if they had never heard!

Wrangling ever, and what is it worth,
And how does it right the wrong?
Till even the flowers lose their mirth,
And the birds give over song;
And the beautiful, simple things of earth
Murmur, " How long, how long! "

Jesus came, with his winsome love
To hearten you and me.
He lived his faith, and the might thereof
Conquers by land and sea:
This carpenter lad, with a dream he had
That led to Calvary.