Lit while your pulses by one heart kept time,
And fed with faithful fondness to your grave—
(Tho' sometimes with a hand stretch'd back from heaven,)
Steadfast thro' all things-near, when most forgot-
And with its finger of unerring truth
Pointing the lost way in thy darkest hour-
One lamp-thy mother's love-amid the stars
Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and, before
The throne of God, burn through eternity-
Holy-as it was lit and lent thee here.
The hand in salutation gently raised
To the bow'd forehead of the princely boy,
Linger'd amid his locks. "I sold," he said,
"My Lybian barb for but a cake of meal-
Lo! this my mother! As I pass'd the street,
I hid it in my mantle, for there stand
Famishing mothers, with their starving babes,
At every threshold; and wild, desperate men
Prowl, with the eyes of tigers, up and down,
Watching to rob those who, from house to house,
Beg for the dying. Fear not thou, my mother!
Thy sons will be Elijah's ravens to thee!"
[UNFINISHED.]
JESUS was there but yesterday. The prints
Of his departing feet were at the door;
His "Peace be with you!" was yet audible
In the rapt porch of Mary's charmed ear;
And, in the low rooms, 'twas as if the air,
Hush'd with his going forth, had been the breath
Of angels left on watch-so conscious still
The place seem'd of his presence! Yet, within,
The family by Jesus loved were weeping,
For Lazarus lay dead.
By the pale sleeper. / He was young to die.
The countenance whereon the Saviour dwelt
With his benignant smile-the soft fair lines
Breathing of hope-were still all eloquent,
Like life well mock'd in marble. That the voice,
Gone from those pallid lips, was heard in heaven,
Toned with unearthly sweetness-that the light,
Quench'd in the closing of those stirless lids,
Was veiling before God its timid fire,
New-lit, and brightening like a star at eve—
That Lazarus, her brother, was in bliss,
Not with this cold clay sleeping-Mary knew.
Her heaviness of heart was not for him!
But close had been the tie by Death divided/
The intertwining locks of that bright hair
That wiped the feet of Jesus-the fair hands
Clasp'd in her breathless wonder while He taught—
Scarce to one pulse thrill'd more in unison,
Than with one soul this sister and her brother
Had lock'd their lives together. In this love,
Hallow'd from stain, the woman's heart of Mary
Was, with its rich affections, all bound up.
Of an unblemish'd beauty, as became
An office by archangels fill'd till now,
She walk'd with a celestial halo clad;
And while, to the Apostles' eyes, it seem'd
She but fulfill'd her errand out of heaven-
Sharing her low roof with the Son of God-
She was a woman, fond and mortal still;
And the deep fervor, lost to passion's fire,
Breathed through the sister's tenderness. In vain
Knew Mary, gazing on that face of clay,
That it was not her brother. He was there-
Swathed in that linen vesture for the grave-
The same loved one in all his comeliness-
And with him to the grave her heart must go.
What though he talk'd of her to angels? nay-
Hover'd in spirit near her ?-'twas that arm,
Palsied in death, whose fond caress she knew!
It was that lip of marble with whose kiss,
Morning and eve, love hemm'd the sweet day in.
This was the form by the Judean maids
Praised for its palm-like stature, as he walk'd
With her by Kedron in the eventide-
The dead was Lazarus! *
The burial was over, and the night
Fell upon Bethany-and morn-and noon.
And comforters and mourners went their way—
But death stay'd on! They had been oft alone,
When Lazarus had follow'd Christ to hear
His teachings in Jerusalem; but this
Was more than solitude.
Was void of expectation.
Always before, and loved
The silence now
Something felt
without a name,
Joy from the air, hope from the opening door,
Welcome and life from off the very walls,—
Seem'd gone-and in the chamber where he lay
There was a fearful and unbreathing hush,
Stiller than night's last hour. So fell on Mary
The shadows all have known, who, from their hearts,
Have released friends to heaven. The parting soul
Spreads wing betwixt the mourner and the sky!
As if its path lay, from the tie last broken,
Straight through the cheering gateway of the sun;
And, to the eye strain'd after, 'tis a cloud
That bars the light from all things./
Drew near to Bethany, the Jews went forth
With Martha, mourning Lazarus. But Mary
Sat in the house. She knew the hour was nigh
When He would go again, as He had said,
Unto his Father; and she felt that He,
Who loved her brother Lazarus in life,
Had chose the hour to bring him home thro' Death In no unkind forgetfulness. Alone
She could lift up the bitter prayer to heaven,
"Thy will be done, O God!"-but that dear brother Had fill'd the cup and broke the bread for Christ; And ever, at the morn, when she had knelt
And wash'd those holy feet, came Lazarus
To bind his sandals on, and follow forth
With dropp'd eyes, like an angel, sad and fair-
Intent upon the Master's need alone.
Indissolubly link'd were they! And now,
To go to meet him-Lazarus not there-
And to his greeting answer "It is well!"
And, without tears, (since grief would trouble Him
Whose soul was always sorrowful,) to kneel
And minister alone-her heart gave way!
She cover'd up her face and turn'd again
To wait within for Jesus. But once more
Came Martha, saying, "Lo! the Lord is here
And calleth for thee, Mary!" Then arose
The mourner from the ground, whereon she sate
Shrouded in sackcloth, and bound quickly up
The golden locks of her dishevell❜d hair,
And o'er her ashy garments drew a veil
Hiding the eyes she could not trust. And still,
As she made ready to go forth, a calm
As in a dream fell on her.
Hard by the sepulchre, without the wall,
Jesus awaited Mary. Seated near
Were the way-worn disciples in the shade;
But, of himself forgetful, Jesus lean'd
Upon his staff, and watch'd where she should come To whose one sorrow-but a sparrow's falling
The pity that redeem'd a world could bleed!
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