🤲 Luke: 4: 24 🤲 Poem by James McLain

'verily, I say, ' my words unfold,
'This prophet's heart grows faint and cold—
No honor waits where I was known,
For in my town, I stand alone.'

They see the child I once had been,
Not dreams of what I'd come to win;
My tender voice, once strong and clear,
Falls dull on hearts that will not hear.

The gifts I bring, they cast aside,
The light I hold, they fail to see;
How strange that near can be so far,
Their blindness hides the brightest star.

For in the soil from which I sprang,
My song goes mute, my harp won't sing.
Yet far beyond these familiar skies,
My vision soars, unbound, and flies.