By the sweet silver stream in old Galilee
past farmers and fisherman tending the sea,
and spreading the net of an old mystery
stood the lovely and lonely Jesus.

Out in the wilderness, no money for meat,
wild locusts and honey was all he did eat;
for shoes just the gospel was shod on his feet,
and called by the name John the Baptist.

Now the cripples and lepers, the lame and the blind,
all crowded 'round Jesus, before and behind,
with a-weepin' and a-wailin' and a-moanin' and cryin'
just to touch but the hem of his garment.

Now John's in the prison, his head on a plate,
though Herod bewail it, too little, too late;
he thought matters had ended for the good of his state
but the worms in his belly torment him.

Well Satan's in the desert, he ain’t-a-got no food,
and down by the pasture he's prowlin' for you
and Christ's on the cross with the tombstone blues.

Well the doctors and lawyers with their casebooks in hand
all question the Saviour and bid him to stand,
while round him is rung the centurion band
to try to break all of his bones asunder.

Though they scourged him and hung him upon a cruel cross
and spat on and mocked him and hailed him with taunts,
silently Christ, though bloody and gaunt
while the heavens wept darkness and thunder.

Well Satan's in the desert, he ain’t-a-got no food,
and down by the pasture he's prowlin' for you
and Christ's on the cross with the tombstone blues.

Down in the valley, the grave for a bed,
and no place was found for to lay his poor head,
the lowly Lord Jesus now raised from the dead,
and returning in terrible glory.

Hear now ye harlots, and hearken, ye thieves,
and all those who now God's Holy Ghost grieve:
remember the cross all sins can relieve
and hear now the end of the story.