| |
| WITH veil tight drawn o’er face, | |
| As if to hide the brand of their disgrace, | |
| Behold the lepers stand; | |
| And voice, in wailing keen, | |
| Sounds through the noon-tide air “Unclean! unclean!” | 5 |
| Far heard o’er waste of sand. | |
| |
| They may not dwell at home; | |
| Far off from haunts of men they yet must roam; | |
| Nor dare they even clasp | |
| The hand of loving friend, | 10 |
| Doomed to an exile that can know no end, | |
| All hope beyond their grasp. | |
| |
| Strange fellowship it brings, | |
| That sore disease that levels slaves and kings, | |
| Breaking through pride of creed, | 15 |
| Those who in Shechem dwell, | |
| Whom Rabbis curse to depths of lowest hell, | |
| With Abraham’s nobler seed. | |
| |
| So, herding in their shame, | |
| The rumour spreads like flash of summer flame, | 20 |
| That One had power to heal, | |
| And they haste on to show | |
| Their leprous scales, foul, ghastly, white as snow, | |
| And at His feet they kneel. | |
| |
| Then sudden flush of health | 25 |
| Runs through their veins, as if in subtle stealth, | |
| And brings back joy of youth; | |
| They turn, and, as they speed, | |
| Know in their flesh that they are healed indeed; | |
| The Healer spoke but truth. | 30 |
| |
| All know, but one alone | |
| Turns back that gift of God’s great love to own, | |
| His thanks and praise to tell; | |
| Son of Samaria’s race, | |
| In him is seen a fuller, worthier grace, | 35 |
| Than aught in Israel. | |
| |
| And is it not so still? | |
| Are not we slow to own the Mighty Wil’ | |
| That works to save and bless? | |
| We, who so much receive, | 40 |
| The speech of joy and praise to others leave, | |
| Whom God endowed with less. | |
| |
| We lose what God has given, | |
| The prize for which our feeble faith has striven, | |
| Because we thank Him not; | 45 |
| Though healed the leprous taint, | |
| Yet still the head is sick and heart is faint; | |
| We crave we know not what. | |
| |
| Wilt thou full health attain, | |
| Let thy heart utter joy’s exulting strain; | 50 |
| To Christ who cleansed thee turn; | |
| Then shalt thou know, at last, | |
| A fuller bliss than all thy unblest past, | |
| High thoughts that cleanse and burn. | |
| |
