University of Virginia Library

THE LEPER.

Theresa.

Jared.
Nay, touch me not, Theresa. Oh, great God!
'Tis now I suffer the full bitterness
Of my most dreadful doom. No, never more
Shall I embrace thee, dearest. Never more
Shall thy fond heart throb bliss into my own,
Till my soul reels, delirious with delight.
Thou shalt repose within my arms no more,
And sleep with thy bright cheek against my breast;
Thy pillow will be lone, and wet with tears,
And thy heart widow'd, while thy husband lives,
And loves, and longs to clasp the gentle form,
That God made all his own.
Look here, my love.
If thou art not quite petrified to stone.
Oh, may the strength of Israel's mighty God
Support thee through this trial. Look, poor wife,
Here is the loathsome plague-spot on mine arm;
Death has affixed his certain signet here.
I am a leper; fearfully unclean;
An outcast; from thy bosom, from my house,
My people; from the temple of my God;
From love and sympathy.
The holy priest
Hath said it. Leprous! and incurable.
I go forth full of anguish, and disease,
To suffer through long years a living death,
While my infected flesh is perishing
From off a hideous living skeleton,
A foul abhorrent thing, whose slightest touch
Is rife with death, whose breath is pestilence,
Whose constant cry unclean! shall warn away
Every approaching foot-step. Oh, Lord God!
What is my sin, that thou hast laid on me
This most revolting of all punishments,
This direst of all sorrows, plagues, and deaths?
Oh, weep not thus, dear love.—And yet, thy tears,
The bitter agony that tortures there
Thy young fond bosom, is to me a pledge
Of thy fond love and pity. Fare thee well,
And do not waste thy life in grief for me.
Think of me as I am, a loathsome thing
Which none can bear to look on, whose slight touch
Is terrible contagion. Be thou blest
With health, and friendship. All this wealth is thine
I leave it all to thee. My daily bread,
And homely garments for my withering form
Is all I now require.

Theresa.
Jared! Oh God!—
I cannot hear thee speak such dreadful words,
I will not let thee go. My heart—my heart!
'Tis breaking with fierce anguish. Must it be?
Is there no hope—no mercy with the Lord,
That we must part so soon? We, who have lov'd
So long, so fervently—We, who have borne
Such cruel trials, and endur'd so much.—
Is this the meed of our tried faithfulness?
This parting, worse a hundred times than death.

Jared.
Be patient, love. Do not arraign the Lord.
I still believe him just, and merciful.
What merit could our love have in his eyes?
Perchance that very passion is a sin
For which he will chastise us. Oh, I feel
That I have lov'd thee to idolatry,
And madly love thee still.—Nay, come not near,
I do command thee! Oh, for one embrace!—
Might I but clasp thee to my heart once more,
And then lie down and die. Death were most sweet
To him who lives a moving pestilence,
Whose foot-print is pollution to the earth,
From whom the vilest wretch shrinks back aghast
With terror and abhorrence. Now farewell.—

Theresa.
—No, no! I cannot, will not, let thee go!
I will go with thee; happier far to share
The horrors of the outcast leper's fate,
Than, though the world were mine, apart from thee.
How can I live within thy princely halls,
And lay me down and sleep, in that alcove,
On downy pillows 'neath embroider'd silk,
The golden fringe of which lies heavily
Upon the marble pavement; while I know
That thou art outcast, perishing, perchance,
On the bare earth, unshelter'd and alone,
With none to aid or sooth thee. I will go
And share thy sufferings.

Jared.
It may not be.
Thy pangs would add to mine, a thousand fold.
Could I endure to see thy fair young form
Made horrible by this white pestilence?
No.—Let me have, amid my sufferings,
One consolation when I think of thee,
And deem thee crown'd with blessings. Dost thou faint?
Mine arm may not sustain thee, fair young flower,
How beauteous is thy drooping loveliness.
Now while thine eyes are clos'd, and thy rich voice
No longer chains my spirit, I will go.
Farewell, farewell for ever. [OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

Jared.
Oh praise the Lord, Theresa! Praise the Lord,
For he hath heal'd thy leper. Oh, the bliss
Of this embrace; this sunrise o'er the night
Of our long, deep despair. The blessedness
Of such a waking from the hideous dream
Of misery such as ours. Bless thee, my wife,
For thy fond love, and holy constancy
To the poor outcast. Heaven reward thy truth;
I have not words to thank thee.

Theresa.
Speak not thus,
My love, my rescued treasure. Thank not me.
To God the merciful, belongs all thanks—
And the physician whom he sent to thee,
He merits at our hands a rich reward.
When was the leper ever cleans'd till now?
Indeed I fear this bliss is all a dream,
Or thou a wretch imposing on my love
In my lost husband's name. Forgive the word,
I see, I am convinced. But where is he
To whom we owe so much? What can we give
That will express our gratitude, for all
That he has done for us. What shall we give?

Jared.
Our hearts Theresa, we will give our hearts.
The man that heal'd me, is the Nazarene
Abhorr'd by our proud rulers, and chief priests,
Whose followers are expell'd the synagogues,
And hated by our nation. Yet I know
That he is the Messiah that should come
Of David's royal lineage, and reign
A glorious king for ever. To the wild
In which I sought to hide my wretchedness,
From scorn, and heartless pity, came the fame
Of this all-healing Jesus; and I felt
That he had power to save me, and went forth
Trembling with hope, to seek him. Oh! my wife.
Could'st thou but look upon him. Beautiful
He is, beyond description. Tall and fair,
With dark-brown locks, parted from his clear brow
Smooth o'er the perfect temples, waving thence
In curls of perfect beauty; and his eyes
So clear, so powerful, and full of love,
So rich in their expression, when they dwelt
In kind compassion on the suffering poor;
Or turn, with pride-subduing stern reproof
On stubborn sin, and haughty arrogance.
I look'd upon him, and my very soul
Seem'd gushing forth to meet him, as he mov'd
In native majesty, serenely great;
Amid the servile multitudes that prest
And knelt to kiss his garment. I advanced,—
The crowd gave way, they would not touch a form
Of pestilence like mine. Low at his feet
I knelt, and humbly supplicated, Lord,
If thou art willing, thou can'st make me clean.
He looked upon me with such pitying love,
And reaching forth his hand (oh, what a hand
And arm is his) he touch'd me, and replied,
I will. Be clean. Oh, how that touch divine,
And voice omnipotent, thrill'd through my soul,
In swelling rapture rushing to my heart,
And trembling through my veins, while all my flesh
Was chang'd to health, and beauty. Oh, the bliss!
The thrilling life-renewing ecstacy
Of that ecstatic moment; when my soul
And mortal body, were renew'd and chang'd,
By the pure influence of Almighty love.
I felt at once that our Immanuel,
God, shrined in manhood, had perform'd my cure,—
But as I worshipp'd him, he bade me go,
Nor speak of Him, but offer to the priest
The accustom'd gift.—In this I will obey,
But speak of him I must, for all my soul
Is flooded with his love. Earth never bore
The impress of a foot perfect as his,
Who walks from place to place, a homeless one,
Dispensing blessedness in all his ways.
His matchless hands impart the richest gifts;
Health to the sick; youth's vigour to the lame;
Speech to the dumb; and hearing to the deaf;
Sight to the blind; and reason's priceless light
To lunatics, and fierce demoniacs.—
Oh, could'st thou see him stand, serenely calm,
Amid the rolling billows of the crowd,
That press around him, while some trembling wretch
Is struggling through the throng, to reach his feet,
Where, as he bends, mute expectation holds
Her empire, o'er the expectant living flood.
A murmur, like the converse of the waves,
First stirs the concourse; then a mighty shout
Swells up to heaven, and melts in echoes down
Upon the distant hills. The afflicted one
Is heal'd, and leaps for joy. But Jesus stands
With pure hands clasp'd, and eyes uprais'd to heaven,
With sweet expression of deep gratitude
And holy love, oft beaming out through tears.—
He looks as if his heart had room for all
Who need his pity; while his ardent soul
Is mingled in communion with the God,
Whose power he surely wields. Nay, start not, love,
He certainly does wield the power of God,
And wield it like a God. He walks the earth,
As if he needed naught of all her wealth,
And heeded not her honours. Her rewards!
Oh, what were all her splendours, gold, and gems,
To barter for his gifts to me alone?
What were they unto him who holds the keys
Of heaven's rich treasury, and dispenses thence
Blessings beyond all price. Requiring naught,
Not even the tribute of a grateful heart.
While precepts such as man ne'er taught to man,
Pure as the dew, and searching as the light,
Flow from his lips, like incense from the rose
That lives on Sharon's mountain. Like our God's,
His gifts are great, and free; and all his words
Are full of Godlike strength, and purity.
With Godlike power he triumphs o'er the pains
And spirits, of the deep abyss of death.
He is the power, and majesty of God,
Enshrin'd in the most pure and faultless form
That nature ever shap'd.
He will not die
As other mortals die, for he has power
O'er death and all diseases. At his word,
The fiercest demons let their victims go,
And shrinking from the splendours of his eye,
Crouch down into black darkness. He controls
Even the elements; the raging sea
Is still at his command, and fierce, free winds,
Close their strong pinions, and with murmur'd hymns
Sink into sleep upon the rocking flood.
Can he not quell the fiercest wrath of man,
Or paralyze his limbs, or strike him down
To death and dark perdition?
If he yields
To the cold sceptre of mortality,
He must resign himself, a sacrifice,
A free-will offering for some great intent;
To make atonement at the bar of God
For some tremendous evil. He would be
A spotless sacrifice, and might atone
For a whole world of sin.
But words are vain,
His power has healed my flesh, and fill'd my soul
With gratitude, and love, and holy peace.
Theresa, thou shalt see his perfect face,
And listen to his voice, and see his deeds;
And kneel, and worship our Immanuel.