Lo, two of the Lord’s disciples
Walked side by side,
And talked of the dear, dead Master,
They spake with the passing stranger,
Who walked alone;
Nor heard in the words of comfort,
The Master’s tone.
So, oft in the waning twilight,
One passeth by;
His voice rings out thro’ the darkness,
Lo, it is I.
And thus in the hush of evening
They sat at meat,
He brake of the bread and blessed it,
Take and eat.
The eyes that were dim with weeping,
Flashed bright and clear;
The hearts that had mourned sang gladly,
The Lord is here.
So wait we in pain and sorrow,
In bitter tears,
And talk of the deep’ning shadows
And gloomy fears.
We mourn for the bleeding Savior,
Nor know ’tis the dear Lord walking
Close by our side.