The Stranger

He just showed up the other day;
No one could tell from whence he came.
What purpose for this drifting stray?
A stranger, wand'ring, with no name.

He dressed in clothes that fit him well,
Not fancy, but in style and clean.
His face was sad, and I could tell
He was upset by what he'd seen.

I spoke to him as one concerned
About the look upon his face.
He answered, and 'twas then I learned
Of his fear for the human race.

He said he'd been here once before
And left before his work was done.
He'd now returned to try once more
To finish what he had begun.

He'd combed the land, both far and wide
In search of those who'd seen the light.
It pained him that so few had tried
To separate the wrong from right.

I then began to understand
Just who I had been talking to.
I saw the wound upon His hand
Where nail had once been driven through.

I kissed that hand that once had bled
And fell upon my bended knee.
He put His hand upon my head
And said, "Rise up and follow Me."