It happen'd on a summer even-tide,
Soon after Christ had freely bled and died,
Two travellers, upon the dusty road,
Each going to his own belov'd abode.

And, walking on, their conversation turn'd,
From many things, to that they just discern'd.
'Sure there are things,' said one, 'beyond our thought;
Wonders have been, this day, in Israel wrought.'

They both conversed about things they had seen,
Until a stranger joined them, but unseen:
'Say, what communion is it, sirs, I pray,
Ye seem to have along this lonely way?'

'Art thou, indeed, a stranger, sir, who says,
Thou know'st not what has happen'd in these days?
How that our people did one Jesus bleed.
We thought 'twas He that would have Isr'el freed!'

'Oh fools!' said He, 'ought Christ not to have died?
Foretold of yore, and by Him prophesied.'
Then Moses and the Prophets He reveal'd,
Which to their eyelids heretofore were seal'd.

Then to the village, as they all drew near,
He fain would go; but, said they, 'Tarry here;
The day is spent, we cannot let thee go;
More of thy name and nature we would know.'

The three together straightway sat at meat:
He took, He bless'd, He broke the bread, they eat.
They saw Him ere He vanish'd from their sight:
'How burn'd our hearts within us here this night!'