W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
The Withered Fig-TreeGeorge Thomas Coster (18351912)
Moved on his path of miracle;—
The lame man leaped, disease was well,
Day broke on orbs of life-long night;
The ruined brain was built afresh;
And in the spirit-vanished flesh
There stirred the life that once had been.
To dying bodies, anguished souls,
And that with sovereign word controls
To peace the sea by tempests racked.
From deepest rootlet to the twig
That should have borne the highest fig
Quick-withered at the word He said.
He smote not cruel men and strong
Who smote Him with the hand and thong,
Nor looked a curse from withering eye.
The answer why, it seemed to say,
“His voice rebellious men could slay,
That bade me, fruitless, cease to live:
The men He came to save, and saves,
He smote them not into their graves,
But wrought in me His mortal will.”