He could do no mighty works there

He could do no mighty works there

His own received Him not.

(The Gospel History, Section 54)

And he could there do no mighty work because of their unbelief, save that he laid his hands upon a few sick folk, and healed them. And he marvelled because of their unbelief.

He could do no mighty works there

(The Saviour of the World, Vol III Book II Poem XXIX)

And is it true He doth no mighty works
In this our England, grown so scantly dear
To the cold sons she nurtures at her breast?
Where be the men of might, the giant race,
Who did great things in our midst! Now, where be they
Whose pulpit thunders shook a nation’s soul?
Or they, sweet souls, who filled a little space
But walked with God, and sang, and still their song
Droppeth as dew on souls dried up and sere?
Tinkers enow have we, but where that one
Who knows to mend a broken Pilgrim’s heart
So it shall hold the red wine of God’s grace?
Do poets “justify the ways of God”?
Who painteth a great picture, men shall bear
With alleluias through their crowded streets
For its witness to th’ ineffable mystery—
All the world’s wonder—Immanuel, Virgin-born?
Where be the willing folk who bring deft hands,
Wrought stone, or wood, or vessel choice of gold,
To raise a sanctuary shall for ever show
That, there, the centre of the people’s life?
Do mighty voices shake our Senate House,
Enunciating, not expediency,
(Vain god we bow before,) but principle,
Pure patriot-principle, sure word of God?
These have been; are they now?

Who tells a tale

Shall open all men’s eyes to see the way
Men work on men, and nature lays cool hand,
And God holds every issue,—tho’ the Name
Be little namèd on the pleasant page?
Who rears his child to know that one sole aim
Shall dominate his days; for God, in God,—
His steadfast purpose, his supremest joy?

Not gone are they, the mighty works of old;
Latent they lie, as Sleeping Beauty bound,
Till magic kiss of faith shall wake them up;
Then, see—they stir, they rise, stretch hands, try strength,
Ope eyes and go forth, strong and fair to bless
Mankind,—those mighty works our God doth keep
Sealed ’neath His hand till men shall come in faith!

We cry on Thee, our Lord, increase our Faith!
Bid us from quest of her we call “the Truth”—
Vain births of scalpel, microscope, and text
Minute-dissected till its life evade
Hard methods of the scholar. These be true;
True, gutter-children speak unseemly words;
But, therefore, childhood is unlovely? No!
True, there be pimples on an agèd face
Which art may picture all a pimple-patch
Nor see the beauty life and thought have wrought;
True, textual error may impugn a phrase;
These things be true; but make not that full-orbed
And radiant Splendour we may name, The Truth—
Proportion is whose essence, faith whose life,
An all-embracing wisdom, whose content,
And Christ, her sole supreme Embodiment!

St. Matthew xiii. 58.
St. Mark vi. 5, 6.

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