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.