Come, little hills of Nazareth,
and slopes of Galilee,
and lilting waves and drifting birds
that crown the fishers’ sea
to hail with April’s glory
Him who made the blind to see.
Spring has crept in across the land;
the colts and calves press near,
voicing their newness,
asking for warmth
in the half-winter, half-spring year
alive with wind and the song of life
where He made the deaf
to hear.
And out on the hills
a shepherd walks alone
among the sheep,
for the chilly winds of lambing time
would stir them from their sleep;
in the home of the Master Shepherd
he would the night watch keep.
Oh, Shepherd kind,
be not gone far
for the nights chill now,
as then.
Bless our eyes with sight,
our ears to hear
past the hollower shouts of men;
and strengthen our arms
to lift each other out
of the tombs again.