Young man', I say unto thee', Arise'. And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak: and he delivered him to his mother. (Luke vii., 11-15.)
The Roman sentinel stood helm'd and tall Beside the gate of Nain. The busy tread Of comers to the city mart1 was done, For it was almost noon, and a dead heat Quiver'd upon the fine and sleeping dust, And the cold snake crept panting from the wall, And bask'd his scaly circles in the sun. Upon his spear the soldier lean'd, and kept His idle watch; and, as his drowsy dream
Was broken by the solitary foot
Of some poor mendicant,' he raised his head To curse him for a tributary3 Jew,
And slumberously dozed on.
'Twas now high noon.
The dull, low murmur of a funeral
Went through the city-the sad sound of feet Unmix'd with voices-and the sentinel Shook off his slumber, and gazed earnestly Up the wide streets along whose paved way The silent throng crept slowly. They came on, Bearing a body heavily on its bier.
There was one-- Only one mourner. Close behind the bier, Crumpling the pall up in her wither'd hands, Follow'd an aged woman. Her short steps Falter'd with weakness, and a broken moan Fell from her lips, thicken'd convulsively As her heart bled afresh. The pitying crowd Follow'd apart, but no one spoke to her. She had no kinsmen.
She had lived alone- He was her all-
The only tie she had in the wide world
And he was dead. They could not comfort her.
Forth from the city gate the pitying crowd Follow'd the stricken mourner. They came near The place of burial, and, with straining hands, Closer upon her breast she clasp'd the pall, And with a gasping sob, quick as a child's, And an inquiring wildness flashing through The thin gray lashes of her fever'd eyes,
She came where Jesus stood beside the way. He look'd upon her, and his heart was moved.
"Weep not!" he said; and as they stay'd the bier, And at his bidding laid it at his feet,
He gently drew the pall from out her grasp,
And laid it back in silence from the dead.
With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near, And gazed on his calm looks. A minute's space He stood and pray'd. Then, taking the cold hand, He said, "Arise!" And instantly the breast Heaved in its cerements, and a sudden flush Ran through the lines of the divided lips, And with a murmur of his mother's name, He trembled and sat upright in his shroud. And, while the mourner hung upon his neck, Jesus went calmly on his way to Nain.
1 MÄRT, a place for the sale of goods. MEN'-DI-CANT, a beggar.
3 TRIB'-U-TA-RY, paying a tribute or tax to secure protection.
14 KINS'-MEN, relations; kindred.
5 CERE'-MENTS, cloths dipped in melted wax, with which dead bodies are infolded when embalmed.
III. THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.
1. And, behold, there cometh one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name; and when he saw Jesus he fell at his feet, and besought him greatly, saying, My little daughter lieth at the point of death: I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed, and she shall live.
2. And Jesus went with him, and much people followed him, and thronged him. And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly. And one said, Thy daughter is dead: why troublest thou the Master any further? But Jesus said, The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed him to scorn.
3. But when he had put them all out, he taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that were with him, and entereth in where the damsel was lying. And he took the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Maiden, arise. And straightway she arose and walked.-Matt., ix.; Mark, v.; Luke, viii.
"The same silvery light
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 vestibule1 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 As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stair; but ere he touch'd The latchet, from within a whisper came, '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 Savior's voice sunk 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
Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay- The linen vesture" folded on her breast, And over it her white transparent hands, The blood still rosy in their 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.
1 VES'-TI-BULE, the porch or entrance into a 4 NERVE'-LESS, destitute of strength. house; also an inner court which leads 5 IN-AUD'-I-BLY, in a manner not to be into a suite of rooms.
2 SAN-DAL, the ancient form of shoe, con-6 VEST'-URE, garment; covering.
sisting of a sole fastened to the foot.
3 JA'-I-RUS, a Roman ruler in Judæa.
7 JET, of the deepest black.
LESSON XI.
THE CRUCIFIXION.
1. AND when they were come to the place which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand and one on the left. Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
"This was the earth's consummate hour;
For this hath blazed the prophet's power; For this hath swept the conqueror's sword; Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored: Persepolis, Rome, Babylon!
For this ye sank, for this ye shone !
"Yet things to which earth's brightest beam Were darkness-earth itself a dream;- Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid Sublime, when sun and star shall fade;- Worlds upon worlds, eternal things, Hung on thy anguish, King of Kings! "Still from his lip no curse has come; His lofty eye has look'd no doom; No earthquake burst, no angel brand Crushes the black, blaspheming band: What say those lips, by anguish riven? 'God, be my murderers forgiven !'"
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