“Are ye able,” said the Master,
“To be crucified with Me?”
“Yea,” the sturdy dreamers answered,
“To the death we follow Thee.”
Lord, we are able. Our spirits are Thine.
Remold them, make us, like Thee, divine.
Thy guiding radiance above us shall be
A beacon to God, to love and loyalty.
Are you able to relinquish
Purple dreams of power and fame,
To go down into the Garden,
Or to die a death of shame?
Are ye able, when the anguish
Racks your mind and heart with pain,
To forgive the souls who wrong you,
Who would make your striving vain?
Are ye able to remember,
When a thief lifts up his eyes,
That his pardoned soul is worthy
Of a place in paradise?
Are ye able when the shadows
Close around you with the sod,
To believe that spirit triumphs,
To commend your soul to God?
Are ye able? Still the Master
Whispers down eternity,
And heroic spirits answer,
Now as then in Galilee.