Who Is My Neighbour?
From Jerusalem to Jericho
The road was lonely, narrow, slow.
A man came walking down the track
As thieves crept up behind his back.
They knocked him down and beat his head
Stripped him, robbed him, left him for dead.
He lay there bleeding in the dirt
Moaning, groaning, badly hurt.
The sun burned down, his throat ran dry
But then a priest came passing by.
“Water please!” cried out the man
“Priest, help me any way you can”
No help came, he was denied
The priest walked by on the other side.
A second priest ignored his plight
Just walked away and out of sight.
As a Samaritan drew near
He shouted out in pain and fear.
“My wife and children will grieve for me,
I am in the hands of my enemy”
But with those hands his wounds were bathed.
They raised him up and he was saved
Carried as a donkey’s load
To an inn along the road.
Washed and bandaged, laid to sleep,
Two silver coins left for his keep.
“Take care of him,” said his new friend,
“I’ll pay whatever else you spend.
And when he wakes let him know,
I was his neighbour, not his foe.”