Chapter_67

6 0 00

“A prophet shall he be all men excelling

To this folk: nevermore shall fail his race,”

But they, “Of him have we heard no man telling,

Nor seen him”⁠—yet the babe was born five days!

But in a pathless reed-brake, oversprayed

With gold and purple splendours was he lying,

Which pansy-petals on his soft flesh rayed.

“So shall he,” spake his mother prophesying,

“Bear this name that through all time shall not fade.”