And staff-for they had waited by the sea Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and pray'd For his wont teachings as he came to land. His hair was parted meekly on his brow, And the long curls from off his shoulders fell, As he lean'd forward earnestly, and still The same calm cadence, passionless and deepAnd in his looks the same mild majesty— And in his mien the sadness mix'd with power— Fill'd them with love and wonder. Suddenly, As on his words entrancedly they hung, The crowd divided, and among them stood JAIRUS THE RULER. With his flowing robe Gather'd in haste about his loins, he came, And fix'd his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew The twelve disciples to their Master's side; And silently the people shrunk away, And left the haughty Ruler in the midst Alone. A moment longer on the face Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze, And, as the twelve look'd on him, by the light Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear Steal to his silver beard; and, drawing nigh Unto the Saviour's feet, he took the hem

Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling hands. Press'd it upon his lids, and murmur'd low, "Master! my daughter!"— *

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 vestibule 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 Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low,
"She is not dead; but sleepeth."

They pass'd in.

The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns

Burn'd dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke

Curl'd indolently on the chamber walls.

The silken curtains slumber'd in their folds

Not even a tassel stirring in the air—

And as the Saviour stood beside the bed,

And pray'd inaudibly, the Ruler heard

The quickening division of his breath

As he grew earnest inwardly. There came
A gradual brightness o'er his calm, sad face;
And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved
The silken curtains silently apart,

And look'd upon the maiden.

Like a form

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 pencill'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.
'Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised
Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out

B 2

The snowy fingers in his palm, and said,
“Maiden! Arise !"—and suddenly a flush
Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips
And through her cheek the rallied colour ran;
And the still outline of her graceful form
Stirr'd in the linen vesture; and she clasp'd
The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes
Full on his beaming countenance-AROSE!

THE LEPER.

"ROOM for the leper! Room!" And, as he came, The cry pass'd on-❝ Room for the leper! Room!" Sunrise was slanting on the city gates

Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills

The early risen poor were coming in,

Duly and cheerfully to their toil, and up

Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum

Of moving wheels and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells-
Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,

Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick
Hailing the welcome light and sounds that chase
The death-like images of the dark away.
"Room for the leper!" And aside they stood-
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood—all
Who met him on his way-and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one