Nazareth – by Joseph Peter Cummings – 1943
‘Mid dust-cloud and fumes the bus grinds to a still
Unloads, then reloads, and has roared up the hill.
And softly peace steals to the sun-soaked white walls
And a deep, holy hush over Nazareth falls.
There’s a cool, quiet church standing near to the road;
‘Tis built o’er the place where once Jesus abode
With Mary and Joseph so long, long ago,
That sacred spot soon this pilgrim will know.
There’s a tiny French nun at the gate to be found,
Her privileged task – to guide pilgrims around.
Six soldiers accost her – she motions us in
And each shows a sign of his feeling within.
The old crumbling walls – the world we’ve forgot
In this nearness to Christ in this so hallowed spot.
We kneel in the room where once Jesus did live
And in divers tongues our humble thanks give.
Three Negroes, two Anzacs, the French nun and I,
We knelt there in silence as minutes sped by.
Departing, reluctant to return to the world
Where Christian ‘gainst Christian in battle is hurled.
As the bus groaned its way to the top of the hill
I looked back and could see quiet Nazareth still.
The old road that Christ and Crusaders once knew …
The bus topped the hill and it faded from view.
Joseph Cummings R.I.P.
Killed in action at sea a few months later.