The priests and merchants in the hills, And girls and women at the mills, Had smiled at old man Zach as long As many could recall. "The song!" They'd shout, when he returned to them From duty in Jerusalem, "The song!" For twenty years they'd sung The song, and put it on the tongue Of children when they told the tale Of how the "Desert John" was born. That's what they called his son. The corn Would crush between the wheels As women worked to make the meals For half a dozen priests from old Abijah's clan. Then they'd be told, "The clan is back! And old man Zach Is coming up the hill!" With pack And staff and ninety years of life, —Or more, some said—he'd climb. His wife Had met him on the ridge until She died. Most say she'd taken ill Because the desert took her boy. She groaned for days and cried, "Destroy Your snakes and vipers, wilderness, But not my son!" The boy was less Than twelve the first time he had not Returned. And then before he'd got A beard upon his face he ceased To come at all. And facing east Upon her simple mat she died. But not the old man Zach. He'd cried For her and John, but then he took His staff and pack and sacred book. And kept his yearly vigil for Another fifteen years. "Adore The God who gives and God who takes," He used to say. "The Sovereign makes No large or small mistakes." When he And other hill-born priests would be A furlong from the village mill, The shout would rise, "He's on the hill!" And girls would leave their grinding stones. "The song! The song!" they'd shout. The tones Were struck and all would sing—just four Short lines for old man Zach, no more: "A barren womb has given birth, A desert boy from desert sprung. Who can foresee the baby's worth, The boy who made his father young?" And it was true: the boy had made His father young. Old Zach had prayed That God would let him see the day When John would lift his voice and say, "Prepare! Prepare the way of God!" Now thirty years gone by, he trod This one last time the village hill, And at the setting of the sun lay still With fever in his face.
The men Kept vigil through the night, and when His breath was almost gone, he said, "John, John." An old friend stroked his head. For all they knew the boy'd been dead For fifteen years. The sky turned red Along the eastern ridge. His breath Would pause, and then, evading death, Return, each time more soft. And then, Against the blood-red sky, the men Saw silhouetted like a black And brawny desert priest, with pack And staff and sacred book, the frame Of John. They knew it, for he came Straight to the simple shelter where He'd lived for half his life. And there, Without a word to those who sat Spellbound, he knelt beside the mat. And as he bent, his long black hair Fell ‘round their face like answered prayer, And made a holy tent. He kissed His father's eyes with glazen mist, The first flesh he had touched for ten Long, lonely years plus five. And then He put his lips beside the old Man's waiting ear and said, "Behold, A voice that in the desert cries, ‘Prepare the way of God!'" The eyes Of Zechariah twitched. His hand Rose as if drawn from heaven, the grand Gesture of a grateful priest. And as the glory of the east Began to shine, his arm fell ‘round John's neck, then softly to the ground. O God, our arms and hope are weak: He has been gone so long! But He alone is all we seek!
O that your bright and shining face Would shine in candle one, And grant by your almighty grace That we embrace the Son. Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsBibleVersion = "ESV"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLinksOpenNewWindow = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsLibronixLinkIcon = "dark"; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsNoSearchTagNames = [ "h1", "h2", "h3" ]; Logos.ReferenceTagging.lbsCssOverride = true; Logos.ReferenceTagging.tag(); By John Piper. © 1986 Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org
