The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

Stately the form, that paced with brass-shod feet,
And legs in iron clasp'd, Capernaum's street.
His helmed head with crimson horse-hair grac'd,
In scaly mail his manly body cas'd,
Save that beneath appear'd the sinewy knee;
Erect his mien, his step was firm and free:
This hand a lance, that grasp'd a vine-branch wand,
Rome, thy centurion's badge, and ensign of command.

But tho', proud Rome, thy legions' garb he wears,
His bosom fosters other hopes than theirs:
And tho' to thee he pays the soldier's vow,
At other shrine his knee is pledg'd to bow.
No gods of thine his soul's allegiance prove,
Quirinal Mars, or Capitolian Jove;
Nor feast to him nor rite of thine is dear,
Pæan, or Salian dance, or garland-crowned steer.

For he has learn'd, a votary pure, to wait
Within the precincts of thy temple gate,
City of God Eternal! and his hands,
In bounty stretch'd to Galilean lands,
Have rais'd a holy house for rites divine:
Nor other offering pays he at the shrine,
Nor other name in worship deigns to own,
But Israel's God, the High and Holy One alone.

And he has learn'd from many a vision old,
In the long scroll of Israel's seers inroll'd,
How from Judea's race despis'd should spring
The world's great Sovereign, and of kings the King.
And he has mark'd the heir of David's throne,
Confirm'd by marvels, as in visions shewn;
Has seen the promis'd Rod of Israel rise,
And Judah's Morning Star shine forth 'mid error's skies.

That Rod to worship, and that Star adore,
His might acknowledge, and his aid implore,
Forth comes he now, prepar'd with pray'rs to meet
The Saviour passing thro' Capernaum's street.
Not for himself that sovereign aid he needs,
Not for himself the generous soldier pleads;
While thus, with lowliness of heart and tone,
He makes to willing ears his wish benignant known.

“Lord, on his bed my suffering servant lies:
His frame unnerv'd convulsive palsy tries;
And death, as o'er his prey some haughty foe,
Has pois'd his spear, and stands prepar'd to throw.
For him thy help I crave: but long have stay'd,
Or ere I dar'd to supplicate thy aid,
For, ah! unworthy I to thee to come,
And all unworthy now to call thee to my home.