Ye fair green hills of Ga­li­lee,
That gir­dle quiet Na­za­reth,
What glo­ri­ous vi­sion did ye see,
When He who con­quered sin and death
Your flow­ery slopes and sum­mits trod,
And grew in grace with man and God?

We saw no glo­ry crown His head
As child­hood rip­ened in­to youth;
No an­gels on His er­rands sped;
He wrought no sign; but meek­ness, truth,
And du­ty marked each step He trod,
And love to man, and love to God.

Jesus! my Sav­ior, mas­ter, king,
Who didst for me the bur­den bear;
While saints in Hea­ven Thy glo­ry sing,
Let me on earth Thy like­ness wear;
Mine be the path Thy feet have trod:
Duty, and love, to man and God.