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124
JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
LUKE, VIII.
They have watched her last and quivering breath,
And the maiden's soul has flown;
They have wrapt her in the robes of death,
And laid her, dark and lone.
And the maiden's soul has flown;
They have wrapt her in the robes of death,
And laid her, dark and lone.
But the mother casts a look behind,
And weeps for that fallen flower;
Nay, start not—'t was the passing wind,
Those limbs have lost their power.
And weeps for that fallen flower;
Nay, start not—'t was the passing wind,
Those limbs have lost their power.
And tremble not at that cheek of snow,
Over which the faint light plays;
'T is only the curtain's crimson glow,
Which thus deceives thy gaze.
Over which the faint light plays;
'T is only the curtain's crimson glow,
Which thus deceives thy gaze.
125
Didst thou not close that expiring eye,
And feel the soft pulse decay?
And did not thy lips receive the sigh,
That bore her soul away?
And feel the soft pulse decay?
And did not thy lips receive the sigh,
That bore her soul away?
She lies on her couch, all pale and hush'd,
And heeds not thy gentle tread,
And is still as the spring-flower by traveller crush'd,
Which dies on its snowy bed.
And heeds not thy gentle tread,
And is still as the spring-flower by traveller crush'd,
Which dies on its snowy bed.
Her mother has passed from that lonely room,
And the maid is still and pale,
Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb,
And dark is the stiffen'd nail.
And the maid is still and pale,
Her ivory hand is cold as the tomb,
And dark is the stiffen'd nail.
Her mother retires with folded arms,
And her head is bent in woe;
Her heart is shut to joys or harms,
No tear attempts to flow.
And her head is bent in woe;
Her heart is shut to joys or harms,
No tear attempts to flow.
But listen! what name salutes her ear?
It comes to a heart of stone—
“Jesus,” she cries, “has no power here,
My daughter's spirit has flown!”
It comes to a heart of stone—
“Jesus,” she cries, “has no power here,
My daughter's spirit has flown!”
126
He leads the way to that cold white couch,
And bends o'er that senseless form;
She breathes! She breathes! at his hallow'd touch
The maiden's hand is warm.
And bends o'er that senseless form;
She breathes! She breathes! at his hallow'd touch
The maiden's hand is warm.
And the fresh blood comes with its roseate hue,
And life spreads quick through her frame,
Her head is raised, and her step is true,
And she murmurs her mother's name.
And life spreads quick through her frame,
Her head is raised, and her step is true,
And she murmurs her mother's name.
Cambridge, Mass. 1812.
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