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.