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, As at the door he stood, and welcomed in The Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low, 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 And look'd upon the maiden. Like a form Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay― Her polish'd neck, scarce touching it, they hung, B 2 The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, 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, Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick |