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(By: James A Francis - 1926)
He was born in an obscure village,
The child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in yet another obscure village
where he worked in a carpenter shop until he
was thirty, and then for three years he was
an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book,
He never held an office,
He never had a family,
He never owned a house,
He never when to college,
He never visited a big city,
He never traveled two hundred miles from
the place He was born.
He did none of the things one usually associates
with greatness.
He had no credentials but Himself.
He was only thirty-three when the tide of popular
opinion turned against Him.
His friends ran away,
He was turned over to His enemies and went through
the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed on a cross between two thieves.
While He was dying His executioners gambled for Hid
clothing, the only property He had on earth.
When He was dead He was laid in a borrowed grave
through the pity of a friend.
Twenty centuries have come and gone and today Jesus
is the central figure of the human race, the leader
of mankind's progress.
All the armies that have marched,
All the navies that have sailed,
All the parliaments that have ever sat,
All the kings that have ever reigned put together,
Have not affected the life of mankind as much as that
ONE SOLITARY LIFE.
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