Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.
Christus: A MysteryPart I. The Divine Tragedy. The First Passover. VIII. Talitha Cumi
My daughter lieth at the point of death;
I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her,
And she shall live!
And sayest thou: Who touched me? ’T was not I.
That virtue is gone out of me.
Forgive me! For I said within myself,
If I so much as touch his garment’s hem,
I shall be whole.
Thy faith hath made thee whole. Depart in peace.
The flute-players, and the voices of the women
Singing their lamentation? She is dead!
We have covered our heads with ashes!
For our young men die, and our maidens
Swoon in the streets of the city;
And into their mother’s bosom
They pour out their souls like water!
She is not dead, but sleepeth.
To take away from me this tender blossom!
To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling!
Like the dead of old in dark places!
He hath bent his bow, and hath set me
Apart as a mark for his arrow!
He hath covered himself with a cloud,
That our prayer should not pass through and reach him!
Listen, he speaks to her!
Her mother holds her folded in her arms!
O miracle of miracles! O marvel!