Holy Land Poem by Richard Watson Gilder

This is the earth he walked on; not alone
That Asian country keeps the sacred stain;
'Tis not alone the far Judaean plain,
Mountain and river! Lo, the sun that shone
On him shines now on us; when day is gone
The moon of Galilee comes forth again
And lights our path as his: an endless chain
Of years and sorrows makes the round world one.
The air we breathe, he breathed,-the very air
That took the mould and music of his high
And godlike speech.-Since then shall mortal dare
With base thought front the ever-sacred sky,-
Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid
In holy death his pale, immortal head!