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JESUS was there but yesterday. The prints | |
| Of his departing feet were at the door; | |
| His “Peace be with you!” was yet audible | |
| In the rapt porch of Mary’s charmed ear; | |
| And in the low rooms t’ was as if the air, | 5 |
| Hushed with his going forth, had been the breath | |
| Of angels left on watch, so conscious still | |
| The place seemed of his presence! Yet, within, | |
| The family by Jesus loved were weeping, | |
For Lazarus lay dead.
And Mary sat | 10 |
| By the pale sleeper. He was young to die. | |
| The countenance whereon the Saviour dwelt | |
| With his benignant smile,—the soft, fair lines | |
| Breathing of hope, were still all eloquent, | |
| Like life well mocked in marble. That the voice, | 15 |
| Gone from those pallid lips, was heard in heaven, | |
| Toned with unearthly sweetness,—that the light, | |
| Quenched in the closing of those stirless lids, | |
| Was veiling before God its timid fire, | |
| New-lit, and brightening like a star at eve,— | 20 |
| That Lazarus, her brother, was in bliss, | |
| Not with this cold clay sleeping,—Mary knew. | |
| Her heaviness of heart was not for him! | |
| But close had been the tie by death divided. | |
| The intertwining locks of that bright hair | 25 |
| That wiped the feet of Jesus, the fair hands | |
| Clasped in her breathless wonder while he taught, | |
| Scarce to one pulse thrilled more in unison, | |
| Than with one soul this sister and her brother | |
| Had locked their lives together. In this love, | 30 |
| Hallowed from stain, the woman’s heart of Mary | |
| Was, with its rich affections, all bound up. | |
| Of an unblemished beauty, as became | |
| An office by archangels filled till now, | |
| She walked with a celestial halo clad; | 35 |
| And while, to the Apostles’ eyes, it seemed | |
| She but fulfilled her errand out of heaven, | |
| Sharing her low roof with the Son of God, | |
| She was a woman, fond and mortal still; | |
| And the deep fervor, lost to passion’s fire, | 40 |
| Breathed through the sister’s tenderness. In vain | |
| Knew Mary, gazing on that face of clay, | |
| That it was not her brother. He was there,— | |
| Swathed in that linen vesture for the grave,— | |
| The same loved one in all his comeliness, | 45 |
| And with him to the grave her heart must go. | |
| What though he talked of her to angels,—nay, | |
| Hovered in spirit near her?—’t was that arm | |
| Palsied in death, whose fond caress she knew! | |
| It was that lip of marble with whose kiss, | 50 |
| Morning and eve, love hemmed the sweet day in; | |
| This was the form by the Judean maids | |
| Praised for its palm-like stature, as he walked | |
| With her by Kedron in the eventide,— | |
| The dead was Lazarus! * * * * * | 55 |
| The burial was over, and the night | |
| Fell upon Bethany, and morn, and noon. | |
| And comforters and mourners went their way, | |
| But death stayed on! They had been oft alone, | |
| When Lazarus had followed Christ to hear | 60 |
| His teachings in Jerusalem; but this | |
| Was more than solitude. The silence now | |
| Was void of expectation. Something felt | |
| Always before, and loved without a name,— | |
| Joy from the air, hope from the opening door, | 65 |
| Welcome and life from off the very walls,— | |
| Seemed gone, and in the chamber where he lay | |
| There was a fearful and unbreathing hush, | |
| Stiller than night’s last hour. So fell on Mary | |
| The shadows all have known who, from their hearts, | 70 |
| Have released friends to heaven. The parting soul | |
| Spreads wing betwixt the mourner and the sky! | |
| As if its path lay, from the tie last broken, | |
| Straight through the cheering gateway of the sun; | |
| And, to the eye strained after, ’t is a cloud | 75 |
That bars the light from all things.
Now as Christ | |
| Drew near to Bethany, the Jews went forth | |
| With Martha, mourning Lazarus. But Mary | |
| Sat in the house. She knew the hour was nigh | |
| When He would go again, as he had said, | 80 |
| Unto his father; and she felt that he, | |
| Who loved her brother Lazarus in life, | |
| Had chose the hour to bring him home through death | |
| In no unkind forgetfulness. Alone, | |
| She could lift up the bitter prayer to heaven, | 85 |
| “Thy will be done, O God!”—but that dear brother | |
| Had filled the cup and broke the bread for Christ; | |
| And ever, at the morn, when she had knelt | |
| And washed those holy feet, came Lazarus | |
| To bind his sandals on, and follow forth | 90 |
| With drooped eyes, like an angel, sad and fair,— | |
| Intent upon the Master’s need alone. | |
| Indissolubly linked were they! And now, | |
| To go to meet him, Lazarus not there, | |
| And to his greeting answer, “It is well!” | 95 |
| And without tears (since grief would trouble him | |
| Whose soul was always sorrowful) to kneel | |
| And minister alone,—her heart gave way! | |
| She covered up her face and turned again | |
| To wait within for Jesus. But once more | 100 |
| Came Martha, saying, “Lo! the Lord is here | |
| And calleth for thee, Mary!” Then arose | |
| The mourner from the ground, whereon she sate | |
| Shrouded in sackcloth, and bound quickly up | |
| The golden locks of her dishevelled hair, | 105 |
| And o’er her ashy garments drew a veil | |
| Hiding the eyes she could not trust. And still, | |
| As she made ready to go forth, a calm | |
As in a dream fell on her.
At a fount | |
| Hard by the sepulchre, without the wall, | 110 |
| Jesus awaited Mary. Seated near | |
| Were the wayworn disciples in the shade; | |
| But, of himself forgetful, Jesus leaned | |
| Upon his staff, and watched where she should come | |
| To whose one sorrow—but a sparrow’s falling— | 115 |
| The pity that redeemed a world could bleed! | |
| And as she came, with that uncertain step, | |
| Eager, yet weak, her hands upon her breast, | |
| And they who followed her all fallen back | |
| To leave her with her sacred grief alone, | 120 |
| The heart of Christ was troubled. She drew near, | |
| And the disciples rose up from the fount, | |
| Moved by her look of woe, and gathered round; | |
| And Mary, for a moment, ere she looked | |
| Upon the Saviour, stayed her faltering feet, | 125 |
| And straightened her veiled form, and tighter drew | |
| Her clasp upon the folds across her breast; | |
| Then, with a vain strife to control her tears, | |
| She staggered to their midst, and at his feet | |
| Fell prostrate, saying, “Lord! hadst thou been here, | 130 |
| My brother had not died!” The Saviour groaned | |
| In spirit, and stooped tenderly, and raised | |
| The mourner from the ground, and in a voice, | |
| Broke in its utterance like her own, he said, | |
| “Where have ye laid him?” Then the Jews who came, | 135 |
| Following Mary, answered through their tears, | |
| “Lord, come and see!” But lo! the mighty heart | |
| That in Gethsemane sweat drops of blood, | |
| Taking for us the cup that might not pass,— | |
| The heart whose breaking cord upon the cross | 140 |
| Made the earth tremble, and the sun afraid | |
| To look upon his agony,—the heart | |
| Of a lost world’s Redeemer,—overflowed, | |
| Touched by a mourner’s sorrow! Jesus wept. | |
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| Calmed by those pitying tears, and fondly brooding | 145 |
| Upon the thought that Christ so loved her brother, | |
| Stood Mary there; but that last burden now | |
| Lay on his heart who pitied her; and Christ, | |
| Following slow, and groaning in himself, | |
| Came to the sepulchre. It was a cave, | 150 |
| And a stone lay upon it. Jesus said, | |
| “Take ye away the stone!” Then lifted he | |
| His moistened eyes to heaven, and while the Jews | |
| And the disciples bent their heads in awe, | |
| And trembling Mary sank upon her knees, | 155 |
| The Son of God prayed audibly. He ceased, | |
| And for a minute’s space there was a hush, | |
| As if the angelic watchers of the world | |
| Had stayed the pulses of all breathing things, | |
| To listen to that prayer. The face of Christ | 160 |
| Shone as he stood, and over him there came | |
| Command, as ’t were the living face of God, | |
| And with a loud voice, he cried, “Lazarus! | |
| Come forth!” And instantly, bound hand and foot, | |
| And borne by unseen angels from the cave, | 165 |
| He that was dead stood with them. At the word | |
| Of Jesus, the fear-stricken Jews unloosed | |
| The bands from off the foldings of his shroud; | |
| And Mary, with her dark veil thrown aside, | |
| Ran to him swiftly, and cried, “Lazarus! | 170 |
| My brother, Lazarus!” and tore away | |
| The napkin she had bound about his head, | |
| And touched the warm lips with her fearful hand, | |
| And on his neck fell weeping. And while all | |
| Lay on their faces prostrate, Lazarus | 175 |
| Took Mary by the hand, and they knelt down | |
| And worshipped him who loved them. | |
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