Classic Poem

JAIRUS at the feet of CHRISTUS

O Master! I entreat thee! I implore thee!
My daughter lieth at the point of death;
I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her,
And she shall live!


CHRISTUS.


Who was it touched my garments?


SIMON PETER.


Thou seest the multitude that throng and press thee,
And sayest thou: Who touched me?
'T was not I.


CHRISTUS.


Some one hath touched my garments;
I perceive
That virtue is gone out of me.


A WOMAN.



O Master!
Forgive me! For I said within myself,
If I so much as touch his garment's hem,
I shall be whole.


CHRISTUS.


Be of good comfort, daughter!
Thy faith hath made thee whole
Depart in peace.


A MESSENGER from the house

Why troublest thou the Master?
Hearest thou not
The flute-players, and the voices of the women
Singing their lamentation? She is dead!


THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS.


We have girded ourselves with sack-cloth!
We have covered our heads with ashes!
For our young men die, and our maidens
Swoon in the streets of the city;
And into their mother's bosom
They pour out their souls like water!


CHRISTUS , going in .

Give place. Why make ye this ado, and weep?
She is not dead, but sleepeth.


THE MOTHER , from within .

Cruel Death!
To take away from me this tender, blossom!
To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling!


THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS.


He hath led me and brought into darkness,
Like the dead of old in dark places!
He hath bent his bow, and hath set me
Apart as a mark for his arrow!
He hath covered himself with cloud,
That our prayer should not pass through and reach him!


THE CROWD.


He stands beside her bed! He takes her hand!
Listen, he speaks to her!

CHRISTUS , within .


Maiden, arise!

THE CROWD .

See, she obeys his voice! She stirs! She lives!
Her mother holds her folded in her arms!
O miracle of miracles! O marvel!