He spake as never orator
  Before, or since, with burning thought,
In parable, and metaphor;
  Each simple illustration taught
    Some sacred truth, some truth which could
    By sage, or fool, be understood.

With similes of common things,
  The lilies of the field, the salt
Which lost its savour; gently brings
  A lesson, from the common fault
    Of self-admiring Pharisee,
    Of ostentatious piety.

And from the prostrate penitent,
  The Publican, who beat his breast,
Remorsefully his garment rent,
  And thus, with tears, his sin confessed;
“Lord, Lord, a sinner vile am I,
    Be merciful, and hear my cry!”

And from that man, beset by thieves,
  And left upon the road, to die;
No aid or comfort he receives
  From Priest, or Levite, passing by;
    How the despised Samaritan
    Proved the true neighbor to that man.

Yes, finished with such fervency
  Of gesture, and similitude;
Such depths of love, and purity
  His hearers marvelled, as they stood;
    Nor through his discourse, was there heard,
    Abusive, vain, or idle word.

Who may this wondrous speaker be? 
  Is he some judge, or orator? 
Some one in high authority? 
  Physician, prince, or conqueror? 
    Answer, thou ever restless sea,
    Who may this wondrous person be?

With echoes soft, the sea replies,
  This is a Judge, and Orator;
A Judge, beyond all judges wise,
  And eloquent, as none before;
A Judge, majestic, calm, serene;
    And yet, an humble Nazarene.

He is a Ruler, whose command
  The myriads of the skies obey,
As in the hollow of His hand
  He holds all human destiny. 
    The tempest wild concedes his will,
    And calms before His “Peace, be still.”

A great Physician, too, is He,
  Whose word, the leper purifies;
The mute converse, the blind ones see;
  At his command, the dead arise;
    He cures the ravages of sin,
    And makes the foulest sinner clean.

He is a Prince, a Prince whose power
  Knows neither limit nor degree,
Whose glory, not the passing hour,
  Nor cycles of futurity,
    Can augment, alter, or decrease—­
    Prince is He, the Prince of Peace.

He is earth’s greatest Conqueror,
  But conquers not with crimson sword;
Love is the weapon of His war,
  Forgiveness, and gentle word;
    But, greatest of all victories,
    O’er the dark grave, His banner flies.

Go, And Sin No More.

  When the poor, erring woman sought
    In tears the Master’s feet,
  Her breast, with deep contrition fraught,
    Repentance, full, complete,
  Divine compassion filled His eyes,
    He spake, says Sacred Lore,—­
“O, erring heart, forgiven, rise,
    Go, thou, and sin no more.”

  The tear of contrite sorrow, shed
    By penitence, cast down,
  Shall flash, when solar rays have fled,
    In an eternal crown;
  That tear shall scintillate, and shine,
    When comets cease to soar;
  If thou would’st wear that gem divine,
Go, thou, and sin no more!