Luke 4:24

'Verily, I say, ' my words unfold, 'This prophet's heart grows faint and cold— No honor waits where I was known, For in my town, I stands alone.' They see the child I once had been, Not dreams of what I'd come to win; My tender voice, yet strong and clear, Falls dull on hearts that will not hear. The gifts I bring, they cast aside, The light I hold, they fail to see; How strange that near can be so far, Their blindness hides the brightest star. For in the soil from which I sprang, My song goes mute, my harp can't sing. Yet far beyond these familiar skies, My vision soars, unbound, and flies.