WILLIS'S POEMS. THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. FRESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve And her slight fingers moved, and heavily With the fast-falling tears; and, with a sigh She gently drew his hand upon her lips, And kiss'd it as she wept. The old man sunk Of the rich curtains buried up his face; And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Stirr'd with his prayer, but the slight hand he held Lay with a mocking beauty, and his Ached with its deathly stillness. gaze It was night And, softly, o'er the Sea of Galilee, Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, Seem'd like some just-born harmony in the air, |