 | Poems of the late Francis S. Key, Esq., . |  |
140
The Nobleman's Son.
“Yesterday, at the seventh hour, the fever left him.”—
St. John, iv., 52.
St. John, iv., 52.
There's a lordly hall on Capernaum's heights,
Magnificent, costly, and fair,
And within and without the gay delights
Of the rich and the great are there.
Magnificent, costly, and fair,
And within and without the gay delights
Of the rich and the great are there.
But the dwellings of earth, whether high or low,
Or mighty and massive their walls,
Cannot keep in joy, or keep out woe—
They must open when misery calls.
Or mighty and massive their walls,
Cannot keep in joy, or keep out woe—
They must open when misery calls.
And sorrow, and sickness, and death will come
When sent, and with step as sure
They pass through the gates of the gilded dome
As the cottager's open door.
When sent, and with step as sure
They pass through the gates of the gilded dome
As the cottager's open door.
141
That courtly hall its gay light throws
No more on Capernaum's hill;
All dark and sad in the gloom of its woes,
The songs of its gladness still.
No more on Capernaum's hill;
All dark and sad in the gloom of its woes,
The songs of its gladness still.
In a lonely chamber a fair child lies,
Of that noble house the loved heir,
The joy and pride of a mother's eyes,
And a father's fondest care.
Of that noble house the loved heir,
The joy and pride of a mother's eyes,
And a father's fondest care.
And that mother is there, with looks that now
Of a mother's agony speak;
And her hand oft presses his throbbing brow,
And her lips his burning cheek.
Of a mother's agony speak;
And her hand oft presses his throbbing brow,
And her lips his burning cheek.
And the father is gone, in his fear and his grief,
The pitying aid to implore
Of Him, who has never refused relief
To the cry of the wretched and poor.
The pitying aid to implore
Of Him, who has never refused relief
To the cry of the wretched and poor.
142
Through the night, through the day, she has watched; to his home
He returns not: the faint hope is gone
That the mighty One he seeks will come
To heal her dying son.
He returns not: the faint hope is gone
That the mighty One he seeks will come
To heal her dying son.
To her fond caress there is no return,
Yet her arms she around him folds,
And the quickening pulses beat and burn
In the little hand she holds.
Yet her arms she around him folds,
And the quickening pulses beat and burn
In the little hand she holds.
Now she holds that hand, and she looks, in her fear,
In the face of her dying boy,
And there falls in its burning palm a tear—
She has started with sudden joy,
In the face of her dying boy,
And there falls in its burning palm a tear—
She has started with sudden joy,
For on that hand she clasped, so dear,
A healthful coolness came;
It seemed as if the mother's tear
Had quenched the fever's flame.
A healthful coolness came;
It seemed as if the mother's tear
Had quenched the fever's flame.
143
To the face on which she so tearfully gazed
The wondrous change extends,
As his head from his pillow he gently raised,
And his eye on his mother bends.
The wondrous change extends,
As his head from his pillow he gently raised,
And his eye on his mother bends.
On his rosy lips she kisses the dew,
And his forehead calm and fair,
And she sees that the light, in his eyes of blue,
Of love alone, is there.
And his forehead calm and fair,
And she sees that the light, in his eyes of blue,
Of love alone, is there.
It was not the tear, by a mother shed,
That the pains of that sickness allayed:
“Go thy way, thy son liveth!” the Lord had said,
Was believed, and the fever obeyed.
That the pains of that sickness allayed:
“Go thy way, thy son liveth!” the Lord had said,
Was believed, and the fever obeyed.
O! ye, in unbelieving fear,
Who weep o'er those you love,
When sickness, pain, or death appear,
Your faith and trust to prove;
Who weep o'er those you love,
When sickness, pain, or death appear,
Your faith and trust to prove;
144
O! know ye how and where to seek
That mighty One, who here
Vouchsafed these words of life to speak,
And heard this father's prayer?
That mighty One, who here
Vouchsafed these words of life to speak,
And heard this father's prayer?
His heart is still soft pity's throne,
His ear as open stands,
His hand as strong, and still alone
His word the world commands.
His ear as open stands,
His hand as strong, and still alone
His word the world commands.
And He is nigh thee! on thy heart
That pitying hand is laid,
And every wish thy lips impart
Is to that ear conveyed.
That pitying hand is laid,
And every wish thy lips impart
Is to that ear conveyed.
“Ask what thou wilt,” commands He still;
Fear not, thou shalt be heard;
Only believe—He can, He will
Speak the life-giving word.
Fear not, thou shalt be heard;
Only believe—He can, He will
Speak the life-giving word.
145
It may not be that life that spends
In care and pain its breath,
That runs its weary course, and ends
At last, and soon, in death.
In care and pain its breath,
That runs its weary course, and ends
At last, and soon, in death.
But a gift beyond thy poor request
May to thy prayers be given:
A life to be spent in the mansions of rest,
And the endless bliss of heaven.
May to thy prayers be given:
A life to be spent in the mansions of rest,
And the endless bliss of heaven.
January, 1843.
| Poems of the late Francis S. Key, Esq., . | |