And as she came, with that uncertain step,-
Eager, yet weak, her hands upon her breast,-
And they who follow'd her all fallen back
To leave her with her sacred grief alone,-
The heart of Christ was troubled. She drew near,
And the disciples rose up from the fount,
Moved by her look of wo, and gather'd round;
And Mary-for a moment-ere she look'd
Upon the Saviour, stay'd her faltering feet,—
And straighten'd her veil'd form, and tighter drew
Her clasp upon the folds across her breast;
Then, with a vain strife to control her tears,
She stagger'd to their midst, and at His feet
Fell prostrate, saying, "Lord! hadst thou been here,
My brother had not died!" The Saviour groan'd
In spirit, and stoop'd tenderly, and raised
The mourner from the ground, and in a voice,
Broke in its utterance like her own, He said,
"Where have ye laid him?" Then the Jews who came,
Following Mary, answer'd through their tears,
"Lord! come and see!" But lo! the mighty heart
That in Gethsemane sweat drops of blood,
Taking for us the cup that might not pass-
The heart whose breaking cord upon the cross
Made the earth tremble, and the sun afraid
To look upon his agony-the heart
Of a lost world's Redeemer-overflow'd,
Touch'd by a mourner's sorrow! Jesus wept.
Calm'd by those pitying tears, and fondly brooding
Upon the thought that Christ so loved her brother,
Stood Mary there; but that lost burden now
Lay on His heart who pitied her; and Christ,
Following slow, and groaning in Himself,
Came to the sepulchre. It was a cave,
And a stone lay upon it.
"Take ye away the stone!"
His moisten'd eyes to heaven, and while the Jews
And the disciples bent their heads in awe,
And trembling Mary sank upon her knees,
The Son of God pray'd audibly. He ceased,
And for a minute's space there was a hush,
As if th' angelic watchers of the world
Had stay'd the pulses of all breathing things,
To listen to that prayer. The face of Christ
Shone as He stood, and over Him there came
Command, as 'twere the living face of God,
And with a loud voice, He cried, "Lazarus !
Come forth!" And instantly, bound hand and foot,
And borne by unseen angels from the cave,
He that was dead stood with them. At the word
Of Jesus, the fear-stricken Jews unloosed
The bands from off the foldings of his shroud;
And Mary, with her dark veil thrown aside,
Ran to him swiftly, and cried, “Lazarus!
MY BROTHER, LAZARUS!" and tore away
The napkin she had bound about his head-
And touch'd the warm lips with her fearful hand—
And on his neck fell weeping. And while all
Lay on their faces prostrate, Lazarus
Took Mary by the hand, and they knelt down
And worshipp'd Him who loved them.
THOUGHTS WHILE MAKING THE GRAVE OF A NEW-BORN
CHILD.
ROOM, gentle flowers! my child would pass to heaven!
Ye look'd not for her yet with your soft eyes,
O watchful ushers at Death's narrow door!
But lo! while you delay to let her forth,
Angels, beyond, stay for her! One long kiss
From lips all pale with agony, and tears,
Wrung after anguish had dried up with fire
The eyes that wept them, were the cup of life
Held as a welcome to her. Weep! oh mother!
But not that from this cup of bitterness
A cherub of the sky has turn'd away.
One look upon thy face ere thou depart!
My daughter! It is soon to let thee go!
My daughter! With thy birth has gush'd a spring
I knew not of-filling my heart with tears,
And turning with strange tenderness to thee-
A love-oh God! it seems so that must flow
Far as thou fleest, and 'twixt heaven and me,
Henceforward, be a bright and yearning chain
Drawing me after thee! And so, farewell!
'Tis a harsh world, in which affection knows
No place to treasure up its loved and lost
But the foul grave!/Thou, who so late wast sleeping
Warm in the close fold of a mother's heart,
Scarce from her breast a single pulse receiving
But it was sent thee with some tender thought,
How can I leave thee-here! Alas for man!
The herb in its humility may fall
And waste into the bright and genial air,
While we by hands that minister'd in life
Nothing but love to us are thrust away-
The earth flung in upon our just cold bosoms,
And the warm sunshine trodden out forever!!
Yet have I chosen for thy grave, my child,
A bank where I have lain in summer hours,
And thought how little it would seem like death
To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook,
Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps.
That lead up to thy bed, would still trip on,
Breaking the dread hush of the mourners gone;
The birds are never silent that build here,
Trying to sing down the more vocal waters:
The slope is beautiful with moss and flowers,
And far below, seen under arching leaves,
Glitters the warm sun on the village spire,
Pointing the living after thee. And this
Seems like a comfort; and, replacing now
The flowers that have made room for thee, I go
To whisper the same peace to her who lies
Robb'd of her child and lonely. 'Tis the work
Of many a dark hour, and of many a prayer,
To bring the heart back from an infant gone.
Hope must give o'er, and busy fancy blot
The images from all the silent rooms,
And every sight and sound familiar to her
Undo its sweetest link-and so at last
The fountain-that, once struck, must flow forever-
Will hide and waste in silence. When the smile
Steals to her pallid lip again, and spring
Wakens the buds above thee, we will come,
And, standing by thy music-haunted grave,
Look on each other cheerfully, and say :-
-
A child that we have loved is gone to heaven,
And by this gate of flowers she pass'd away!
ON THE DEPARTURE OF REV. MR. WHITE
FROM HIS PARISH, WHEN CHOSEN PRESIDENT OF WABASH COLLEGE.
LEAVE us not, man of prayer! Like Paul, hast thou "Served God with all humility of mind,"
Dwelling among us, and "with many tears,"
"From house to house," " by night and day not ceasing,'
Hast pleaded thy blest errand. Leave us not! Leave us not now! The Sabbath-bell, so long Link'd with thy voice-the prelude to thy prayerThe call to us from heaven to come with thee
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