DISCIPLES.
But one word from those lips,
But one touch of that hand, and he is healed!
Ah, why could we not do it?
The Annotated Edition
DISCIPLES. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A disciple expresses sorrow that only Christ's word and touch can heal the sick, leaving the disciples feeling powerless.
- Themes
- doubt, faith, hope
§01Quick summary
What this poem is about
A disciple expresses sorrow that only Christ's word and touch can heal the sick, leaving the disciples feeling powerless. It's a brief, heartfelt poem that highlights the struggle between faith and human limitations. In just three lines, Longfellow conveys the frustration of witnessing someone suffer when you know help is available but are unable to provide it yourself.
§02Themes
Recurring themes
§03Line by line
Stanza by stanza, with notes
But one word from those lips, / But one touch of that hand, and he is healed!
Editor's note
The speaker — a disciple of Christ — observes someone who is sick or suffering and is fully convinced that just one word or a simple touch from Jesus would heal him. The phrase "But one" emphasizes how minimal the request seems, amplifying the disciples' failure to meet it. The exclamation mark conveys both awe at Christ's abilities and sorrow over the circumstances.
Ah, why could we not do it?
Editor's note
This closing cry resonates with the moment in the Gospels (Matthew 17:19) when the disciples question Jesus about their inability to cast out a demon. The "Ah" conveys a deep sense of anguish, not merely serving as rhetorical flair. The question remains unanswered, which is key: the poem immerses us in the disciples' doubt and helplessness instead of providing comfort or clarity.
§04Tone & mood
How this poem feels
The tone is raw and filled with grief, yet there's a sense of awe beneath it all. It feels like an overheard prayer—intimate, barely held together, teetering on the brink of despair. There's no comfort given, which adds to its stark honesty, especially coming from a poet usually recognized for more composed, uplifting work.
§05Symbols & metaphors
Symbols & metaphors
- The word from those lips
- Christ's spoken word embodies divine authority, emphasizing that creation and healing stem from speech itself, much like the Gospel of John states, "In the beginning was the Word." This also underscores that, at its most potent, language is a gift from God, not merely a tool of human beings.
- The touch of that hand
- Physical touch represents direct, embodied grace — a form of healing that transcends debate or doctrine and takes effect right away. This is in stark contrast to the disciples' own hands, which are there but lack effectiveness.
- The disciples' failure
- The disciples embody genuine and dedicated human effort, yet they still fall short. Their failure to heal isn't a reflection of bad faith, but rather highlights the unbridgeable gap between human and divine power — a divide that brings forth both humility and anguish.
§06Historical context
Historical context
Longfellow published this poem in his collection *Christus: A Mystery* (1872), a grand trilogy he crafted over nearly thirty years. The trilogy explores the history of Christianity in three parts: the founding, the Middle Ages, and the modern era. "Disciples" is part of the first section, *The Divine Tragedy*, which presents scenes from the Gospels through dramatic verse. The moment Longfellow focuses on is from Matthew 17:14–19 and Mark 9:14–29, where the disciples are unable to heal a boy possessed by an unclean spirit and later privately ask Jesus why they couldn't succeed. Longfellow wrote this during a time of personal sorrow and spiritual doubt—his wife Fanny had tragically died in a fire in 1861—and his exploration of the Christian narrative in *Christus* reveals both profound faith and a genuine struggle with human limitations and suffering.
§07FAQ
Questions readers ask
It references Matthew 17:14–19 and the similar story in Mark 9:14–29, where the disciples attempt to heal a boy with an unclean spirit but are unsuccessful. When they question Jesus about their failure, he attributes it to their lack of faith. Longfellow includes the disciples' question but omits Jesus's response, focusing the poem on the moment of their failure.
Longfellow crafted it as a dramatic fragment in *Christus: A Mystery*, part of his extensive trilogy exploring Christianity. These brief, lyrical moments aim to evoke the sensation of overheard conversation — a fleeting expression of emotion captured amidst a larger narrative. The shortness is intentional: grief and feelings of inadequacy don't require lengthy elaboration.
The speaker is a disciple of Jesus, probably one of those who tried and failed to heal the sick person while Jesus was away. Longfellow doesn’t identify the speaker, allowing the voice to feel universal — it could be anyone of faith who has felt helpless in the presence of suffering.
It doesn't focus on faith as much as it highlights its boundaries. The disciples genuinely believe in Christ's power — that belief is what makes their failure feel so crushing. The poem exists in the space between faith in what *could* be achieved and the harsh truth of what *they* were unable to accomplish.
It operates on two levels. As a religious poem, it reflects the disciples' reliance on Christ and their recognition of their spiritual shortcomings. At the same time, it resonates with anyone who has witnessed another's suffering and felt powerless—be it a caregiver, a parent, or a friend—understanding that the appropriate support is out there, yet feeling unable to deliver it themselves.
*Christus: A Mystery* is a dramatic trilogy that Longfellow worked on for nearly thirty years, finally published in full in 1872. The trilogy explores the founding of Christianity, the medieval period, and the modern era. The first part, titled "Disciples," appears in *The Divine Tragedy* and dramatizes scenes from Jesus's life through verse dialogue and lyrical interludes.
Because the disciples' question in the Gospels is never fully answered to our satisfaction — Jesus's reply about faith doesn't ease the pain of having let someone down when they needed help. Ending with "Ah, why could we not do it?" leaves the reader with that lingering sense of uncertainty, which feels more genuine and impactful than concluding with a theological explanation.
It's both anguished and humble at once. The "Ah" at the beginning of the final line is a heartfelt sigh of real pain, not just a theatrical touch. The disciples don’t feel anger toward God; instead, they’re lost and heartbroken over their own shortcomings. This mix of awe and powerlessness lends the poem a subtle but powerful intensity.
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