The Gospel Miracles In A Series of Poetical Sketches: With Illustrative Conversations. By Richard Mant |
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THE DISEASED WOMAN. |
 | The Gospel Miracles |  |
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THE DISEASED WOMAN.
Who, tho' with tongue of angels, could portray,
His bosom glowing with a seraph's flame,
What power supreme intabernacled lay
Within the incarnate Godhead's lowly frame?
Thence issuing forth essential virtue came,
Dispensing health, whene'er his mandate bade:
And thence, as if unbidden, to its aim
It sprang, when faith with outstretch'd hand essay'd
To touch the garment's hem, which that meek frame array'd.
His bosom glowing with a seraph's flame,
What power supreme intabernacled lay
Within the incarnate Godhead's lowly frame?
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Dispensing health, whene'er his mandate bade:
And thence, as if unbidden, to its aim
It sprang, when faith with outstretch'd hand essay'd
To touch the garment's hem, which that meek frame array'd.
And tho' with angel's tongue and seraph's fire,
Who the mild goodness in that frame inshrin'd
Could paint with worthy colours; and aspire
To trace the more than parent's love combin'd
With pow'r supreme, which watch'd, with gentle wind
To fan the rising flame of faint belief;
To raise the bruis'd, the bleeding heart to bind,
That meekly felt, but fear'd to speak, her grief,
And long'd and sigh'd to find, but durst not ask relief?
Who the mild goodness in that frame inshrin'd
Could paint with worthy colours; and aspire
To trace the more than parent's love combin'd
With pow'r supreme, which watch'd, with gentle wind
To fan the rising flame of faint belief;
To raise the bruis'd, the bleeding heart to bind,
That meekly felt, but fear'd to speak, her grief,
And long'd and sigh'd to find, but durst not ask relief?
And who could paint that all-pervading eye,
Which pierc'd the secrets of the soul; and say,
If more of might and bounteous energy,
Or more the incarnate Godhead's acts display,
Of heavenly wisdom? Like the eye of day,
Whose genial splendour bids the harvest wave,
And fills the earth with gladness, while his ray
Thrills the dark chamber of the mountain cave,
And lights the coral rocks, which ocean's valleys pave.
Which pierc'd the secrets of the soul; and say,
If more of might and bounteous energy,
Or more the incarnate Godhead's acts display,
Of heavenly wisdom? Like the eye of day,
Whose genial splendour bids the harvest wave,
And fills the earth with gladness, while his ray
Thrills the dark chamber of the mountain cave,
And lights the coral rocks, which ocean's valleys pave.
As 'mid Capernaum's crowd he past along,
“Who touch'd me?” ask'd the Saviour of mankind.
“Lord, dost thou see,” his followers said, “the throng,
That on thee press, before, beside, behind,
And dost thou ask, Who touch'd me?” But the mind
Of cloudless wisdom who may hope to shun!
“Some hand hath touch'd my garment,” he rejoin'd:
And his keen eye, irradiant as the sun,
Glanc'd o'er the crowd to see by whom the deed was done.
“Who touch'd me?” ask'd the Saviour of mankind.
“Lord, dost thou see,” his followers said, “the throng,
That on thee press, before, beside, behind,
And dost thou ask, Who touch'd me?” But the mind
Of cloudless wisdom who may hope to shun!
“Some hand hath touch'd my garment,” he rejoin'd:
And his keen eye, irradiant as the sun,
Glanc'd o'er the crowd to see by whom the deed was done.
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The deed alleg'd the unconscious crowd deny.
But one there was, who that soul-searching word,
And the keen glance of that commanding eye,
Could not unmov'd endure: but when she heard
Once and again the Saviour's charge preferr'd,
Forth from the circling crowd, where not conceal'd
She shrunk, fear-struck and cowering as a bird
Scar'd from her nestling's covert, quick she kneel'd
Low at the Saviour's feet, and all her tale reveal'd.
But one there was, who that soul-searching word,
And the keen glance of that commanding eye,
Could not unmov'd endure: but when she heard
Once and again the Saviour's charge preferr'd,
Forth from the circling crowd, where not conceal'd
She shrunk, fear-struck and cowering as a bird
Scar'd from her nestling's covert, quick she kneel'd
Low at the Saviour's feet, and all her tale reveal'd.
Was it a tale of guiltiness, that so
Smit with alarm she trembled and dismay?
Alas, of guilt no story, but of woe.
Twelve years the victim of disease she lay,
Twelve years of inward hemorrhage the prey.
And still for aid medicinal she flew
Now here, now there, in vain, her grief to stay:
Nor comfort now, nor help, nor hope she knew;
For still her substance waned, and still her ailment grew.
Smit with alarm she trembled and dismay?
Alas, of guilt no story, but of woe.
Twelve years the victim of disease she lay,
Twelve years of inward hemorrhage the prey.
And still for aid medicinal she flew
Now here, now there, in vain, her grief to stay:
Nor comfort now, nor help, nor hope she knew;
For still her substance waned, and still her ailment grew.
But she had heard of Jesus; and she thought,
'Twas his more aid and mightier to bestow,
Than skill medicinal: and now she sought
On him the burden of her care to throw.
Enough behind him in the crowd to go,
“For well,” thus said she in her musing breast,
“If I but touch his garment's hem, I know,
That touch shall leave me from my plague releas'd:”—
She touch'd, and felt at once that ancient plague was ceas'd.
'Twas his more aid and mightier to bestow,
Than skill medicinal: and now she sought
On him the burden of her care to throw.
Enough behind him in the crowd to go,
“For well,” thus said she in her musing breast,
“If I but touch his garment's hem, I know,
That touch shall leave me from my plague releas'd:”—
She touch'd, and felt at once that ancient plague was ceas'd.
She touch'd his clothes, and bade her soul rejoice
To find the fountain of her sorrow dry.
But when she heard his all-commanding voice
Proclaim the deed, and met his piercing eye,
Call'd from the shade of her obscurity,
She felt her buoyancy of joy controll'd
By conscious dread and deep humility;
And in the people's ears her daring bold,
And her long-seated plague, and her well-being told.
To find the fountain of her sorrow dry.
But when she heard his all-commanding voice
Proclaim the deed, and met his piercing eye,
Call'd from the shade of her obscurity,
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By conscious dread and deep humility;
And in the people's ears her daring bold,
And her long-seated plague, and her well-being told.
Meseems it not, that one, whose misery sought
With faith like hers the mighty Master's aid,
Could in her mind have nurs'd the unworthy thought,
His deed of mercy from himself to shade:
I rather deem she trembled thus afraid,
For that her healing, as her grief, for shame
She hid from others; nor the tribute paid
Of honour to her Benefactor's name,
Meet cause of ire in him, to her meet cause of blame.
With faith like hers the mighty Master's aid,
Could in her mind have nurs'd the unworthy thought,
His deed of mercy from himself to shade:
I rather deem she trembled thus afraid,
For that her healing, as her grief, for shame
She hid from others; nor the tribute paid
Of honour to her Benefactor's name,
Meet cause of ire in him, to her meet cause of blame.
But He, the storm of whose imagin'd ire
That woman dar'd not tho' in fancy brook,
Did he encounter her with eye of fir?,
And arm his tongue with shafts of sharp rebuke?
Ah, no! with soothing and paternal look,
“Cheer thee,” he said, “my daughter! lo, is quell'd
The tyrant plague, which o'er thy body shook
His rod relentless, by thy faith expell'd;
And o'er thee never more shall that dread scourge be held.”
That woman dar'd not tho' in fancy brook,
Did he encounter her with eye of fir?,
And arm his tongue with shafts of sharp rebuke?
Ah, no! with soothing and paternal look,
“Cheer thee,” he said, “my daughter! lo, is quell'd
The tyrant plague, which o'er thy body shook
His rod relentless, by thy faith expell'd;
And o'er thee never more shall that dread scourge be held.”
'Tis said, and well to them the tale is known,
Who tread the paths of legendary lore,
Signs of the mercy to that woman shewn,
She placed two brazen statues at her door:
There stood the Saviour, gently bending o'er
The suppliant woman; and with eyes uprais'd
There too the suppliant woman knelt before
The bounteous Saviour, and intently gazed,
As he his hands outspread in act of blessing rais'd.
Who tread the paths of legendary lore,
Signs of the mercy to that woman shewn,
She placed two brazen statues at her door:
There stood the Saviour, gently bending o'er
The suppliant woman; and with eyes uprais'd
There too the suppliant woman knelt before
The bounteous Saviour, and intently gazed,
As he his hands outspread in act of blessing rais'd.
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But let the tale of old tradition pass;
For to our minds the Saviour's records tell,
With traits more true than monumental brass,
The living portrait of that miracle.
And on the lovely scene 'tis sweet to dwell,
Memorial of that woman's great release:
To mark what feelings in her bosom swell,
And what the Saviour's might, who gave to cease
At once her stubborn plague, and sent her thence in peace.
For to our minds the Saviour's records tell,
With traits more true than monumental brass,
The living portrait of that miracle.
And on the lovely scene 'tis sweet to dwell,
Memorial of that woman's great release:
To mark what feelings in her bosom swell,
And what the Saviour's might, who gave to cease
At once her stubborn plague, and sent her thence in peace.
Yea, sweet to mark, how faith's unshaken root
Deep in her silent heart's recesses dwelt:
And how it bloom'd, and ripen'd into fruit,
What time she touch'd the garment's hem, and felt
The inward cure that healing virtue dealt:
And all polluted as herself she knew,
And worthless, how with humbleness she knelt,
And told her ill; and whence the cure she drew;
And Him, who wrought the cure, confess'd with honour due.
Deep in her silent heart's recesses dwelt:
And how it bloom'd, and ripen'd into fruit,
What time she touch'd the garment's hem, and felt
The inward cure that healing virtue dealt:
And all polluted as herself she knew,
And worthless, how with humbleness she knelt,
And told her ill; and whence the cure she drew;
And Him, who wrought the cure, confess'd with honour due.
And sweet to mark the wondrous potency,
Which in the Saviour's person made abode:
Bright effluence of essential Deity,
With light innate, ineffable, it glow'd;
Nor rested there, but forth its virtue shew'd,
To faith responsive; and around him shed
A cheering influence, like the oil which flow'd
In streams of fragrancy from Aaron's head,
And down his beard, and down his raiment's skirts it spread.
Which in the Saviour's person made abode:
Bright effluence of essential Deity,
With light innate, ineffable, it glow'd;
Nor rested there, but forth its virtue shew'd,
To faith responsive; and around him shed
A cheering influence, like the oil which flow'd
In streams of fragrancy from Aaron's head,
And down his beard, and down his raiment's skirts it spread.
Mine be that woman's faith, tho' mix'd it seem
With touch of frail humanity's alloy:
Be mine, like her, of his great pow'r to deem,
Who wrought the healing of her life's annoy,
Fit theme for praise, and not unthankful joy!
And, oh, be mine, like her to hear “Be whole”
By Him pronounc'd, who only can destroy
The floods of sin, that like a deluge roll,
Till He pronounce the word of healing to the soul!
With touch of frail humanity's alloy:
Be mine, like her, of his great pow'r to deem,
Who wrought the healing of her life's annoy,
Fit theme for praise, and not unthankful joy!
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By Him pronounc'd, who only can destroy
The floods of sin, that like a deluge roll,
Till He pronounce the word of healing to the soul!
Yes, 'tis for them, who feel the secret taint
Of sin primeval thro' their bosom glide,
By that infirmity of nature faint,
Forlorn and hopeless of all cure beside,
His healing aid to seek, in whom reside
Glory and love divine: 'tis his to stem,
In faith's behoof, corruption's swelling tide;
Nor let pollution's plague abide on them,
Who on the Saviour press to touch his garment's hem.
Of sin primeval thro' their bosom glide,
By that infirmity of nature faint,
Forlorn and hopeless of all cure beside,
His healing aid to seek, in whom reside
Glory and love divine: 'tis his to stem,
In faith's behoof, corruption's swelling tide;
Nor let pollution's plague abide on them,
Who on the Saviour press to touch his garment's hem.
| The Gospel Miracles | |