I.
“When He had heard, therefore, that he was sick, He abode two days still in the same place where He was.”
What hope lit up those sisters' gloom,
When first they sent His help to crave,
So sure that, hearing, He would come,
And, coming, could not fail to save!
Counting the distance o'er again,
Deeming Him near and yet more near;
Till hope, on heights she climbed in vain,
Lay frozen to a death-like fear:
Watching with twofold strain intent
The expected steps, the failing breath,
Till hope and fear, together spent,
Sank in the common blank of death.
“Beyond this burning waste of hills,
Beyond that awful glittering sea,
Mid those blue mountains lingering still,
Have our faint prayers not reached to Thee?
“Or are the joys and griefs of earth
To Thee, whose eyes survey the whole,
But passing things of little worth,
That should not deeply stir the soul?”
His tears ere long shall hush that fear
For every mourning heart for ever;
And we, who now His words can hear
Beyond the hills, beyond the river,
Know that as true a watch He kept
On those far heights, as at their side,
Feeling the tears the sisters wept,
Marking the hour the brother died.
No faintest sigh His heart can miss;
E'en now His feet are on the way,
With richest counter-weight of bliss
Heaped up for every hour's delay;
That nevermore should hope deferred
Make sick the heart which trusts in Him.
But, nourished by His faithful Word,
Grow brighter still as sight grows dim.
