HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.
And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Stirr'd with his prayer, but the slight hand he held Had ceased its pressure-and he could not hear, In the dead, utter silence, that a breath
Came through her nostrils-and her temples gave To his nice touch no pulse-and, at her mouth, He held the lightest curl that on her neck Lay with a mockiug beauty, and his gaze Arched with its deathly stillness.
And, softly, o'er the Sea of Galilee,
Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, Tipp'd with the silver sparkles of the moon. The breaking waves play'd low upon the beach Their constant music, but the air beside Was still as starlight, and the Saviour's voice, In its rich cadences unearthly sweet, Seem'd like some just-born harmony in the air, Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock, With the broad moonlight falling on his brow, - He stood and taught the people. At his feet Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim's scallop-shell, And staff-for they had waited by the sea Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and pray'd For his wont teachings as he came to land. His hair was parted meekly on his brow, And the long curls from off his shoulders fell, As he lean'd forward earnestly, and still The same calm cadence, passionless and deep- And in his looks the same mild majesty-
HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.
And in his mien the sadness mix'd with power- Fill'd them with love and wonder. Suddenly, As on his words entrancedly they hung,
The crowd divided, and among them stood JAIRUS THE RULER. With his flowing robe Gather'd in haste about his loins, he came, And fix'd his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew The twelve disciples to their Master's side; And silently the people shrunk away, And left the haughty Ruler in the midst Alone. A moment longer on the face Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze, And, as the twelve look' on him, by the light Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear Steal to his silver beard; and, drawing nigh Unto the Saviour's feet, he took the hem
Of his coarse mantle, and, with trembling hands, Press'd it upon his lips, and murmur'd low, "Master! my daughter!"
That shone upon the lone rock by the sea, Slept on the Ruler's lofty capitals, As at the door he stood, and welcomed in Jesus and his disciples. All was still. The echoing vestibule gave back the slide Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms. He trod the winding stair; but ere he touch'd The latchet, from within a whisper came,
HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.
"Trouble the Master not for she is dead!" And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side, And his steps falter'd, and his broken voice Choked in its utterance ;-but a gentle hand Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear The Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low, "She is not dead-but sleepeth."
The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns
Burn'd dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke Curl'd indolently on the chamber walls.
The silken curtains slumbered in their folds- Not even a tassel stirring in the air-
And, as the Saviour stood beside the bed, And pray'd inaudibly, the Ruler heard The quickening division of his breath As he grew earnest inwardly. There came A gradual brightness o'er his calm, sad face; And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved The silken curtains silently apart,
And look'd upon the maiden.
Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay— The linen vesture folded on her breast, And over it her white transparent hand, The blood still rosy in her tapering nails. A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, The breathing curve was mockingly like life; And round beneath the faintly tinted skin
Ran the light branches of the azure veins; And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, Matching the arches pencil'd on her brow. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears In curls of glossy blackness, and about
Her polish'd neck, scarce touching it, they hung, Like airy shadows floating as they slept; 'Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, "Maiden! arise!"-and suddenly a flush Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips. And through her cheek the rallied color ran; And the still outline of her graceful form Stirr'd in the linen vesture; and she clasp'd The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance-AROSE.
And Jesus answered and said unto him, "What wilt thou that I should do unto thee?" The blind man said unto him, "Lord that I might receive my sight."-ST. Mark x. 51.
BLIND Bartimeus at the gates
Of Jericho in darkness waits:
He hears the crowd ;-he hears a breath
Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!"
And calls, in tones of agony,
̓Ιησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με 1
The thronging multitudes increase; Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace! But still, above the noisy crowd, The beggar's cry is shrill and loud;
Until they say, "He calleth thee!"
Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, φωνεῖ σε!
Then saith the Christ, as silent stands
The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?" And he replies, "O give me light!
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight!"
And Jesus answers, Ynaye:
«Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε
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