The Poetical Works | Page 5

with the boys of Nazareth?He never joined in mirth,?Yet young and old felt strangely drawn?Towards His modest worth;?E'en though that quiet, wondrous Child,?Had never laughed nor even smiled.*
For even then prophetic rose?Before His spirit's gaze?The cruel Cross, the griefs reserved?For manhood's coming days,?And, worse than all, the countless host?That, spite His pangs, might yet be lost.
Silent and calm, He held His way?From morn till evening still;?His thoughts intent on working out?His Mighty Father's will;?While Heaven bent in ecstasy,?O'er the Boy-God of Galilee.
[* An old tradition avers that our Saviour was never seen to laugh during His mortal life.]
OUR SAVIOUR AND THE SAMARITAN WOMAN AT THE WELL.
Close beside the crystal waters of Jacob's far-famed well,?Whose dewy coolness gratefully upon the parched air fell,?Reflecting back the bright hot heavens within its waveless
breast,?Jesus, foot-sore and weary, had sat Him down to rest.
Alone was He--His followers had gone to Sichar near,?Whose roofs and spires rose sharply against the heavens clear, For food which Nature craveth, whate'er each hope or care,?And which, though Lord of Nature, He disdained not to share.
While thus He calmly waited, came a woman to the well,?With water vase poised gracefully, and step that lightly fell, One of Samaria's daughters, most fair, alas! but frail,?Her dark locks bound with flowers instead of modest, shelt'ring
veil.
No thought of scornful anger within His bosom burned,?Nor, with abhorrent gesture, His face from her He turned;?But as His gaze of purity dwelt on her, searching, meek,?Her bright eyes fell, and blushes hot burned on her brow and
cheek.
He told her with a gentleness, by God-like pity nursed,?Of wond'rous living fountains at which to slake her thirst; That those whose lips, thrice blessed, should a draught from them
obtain,?Despite earth's toils and troubles, would ne'er know thirst
again.
He spoke, too, of the frailties which her womanhood had marred, That priceless crown which, she, alas! had sadly failed to guard, No word of bold denial did that woman dare to plan--?She felt that He who spoke with her was more than mortal man.
And when the twelve disciples returned, their errand done,?They wondered at His converse with that lost and erring one, But still they asked no question, while she, with thoughtful
mien,?Returned to tell her friends at home of all that she had seen.
Not only for that daughter of Samaria's hot clime--?Child of an ancient people, of a by-gone faith and time--?Was meant the exhortation that from His lips then fell,?But for His Christian children, for us, to-day, as well.
For us, still pure and sparkling, those living waters flow?Of which He told Samaria's child long centuries ago:?Forgetting thoughts of earthly pride, and hopes of worldly gain, Seek we but once of them to drink--we'll never thirst again.
THE TEN LEPERS.
'Neath the olives of Samaria, in far-famed Galilee,?Where dark green vines are mirrored in a placid silver sea, 'Mid scenes of tranquil beauty, glowing sun-sets, rosy dawn, The Master and disciples to the city journeyed on.
And, as they neared a valley where a sheltered hamlet lay,?A strange, portentous wailing made them pause upon their way-- Voices fraught with anguish, telling of aching heart and brow, Which kept moaning: "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us now!"
Softly raised the gentle Saviour His eyes like midnight star, And His mournful gaze soon rested on ten lepers, who, afar, Stood motionless and suppliant, in sackcloth rudely clothed, Poor Pariahs! by their nearest, their dearest, shunned and
loathed.
Not unto Him prayed vainly those sore afflicted ten,?No! He yearned too fondly over the erring sons of men,?Even sharing in their sorrows, though He joined not in their
feasts,--?So He kindly told the Lepers: "Show yourselves unto the priests."
When, miracle of mercy! as they turned them to obey,?And towards the Holy Temple quickly took their hopeful way, Lo! the hideous scales fell off them, health's fountains were
unsealed,?Their skin grew soft as infant's--their leprosy was healed.
O man! so oft an ingrate, to thy thankless nature true,?Thyself see in those Lepers, who did as thou dost do;?Nine went their way rejoicing, healed in body--glad in soul-- Nor once thought of returning thanks to Him who made them whole.
One only, a Samaritan, a stranger to God's word,?Felt his joyous, panting bosom, with gratitude deep stirred, And without delay he hastened, in the dust, at Jesus' feet, To cast himself in worship, in thanksgiving, warm and meet.
Slowly questioned him the Saviour, with majesty divine:--?"Ten were cleansed from their leprosy--where are the other nine? Is there none but this one stranger--unlearned in Gods ways, His name and mighty power, to give word of thanks or praise?"
The sunbeams' quivering glories softly touched that God-like
head,?The olives blooming round Him sweet shade and fragrance shed, While o'er His sacred features a tender sadness stole:?"Rise, go thy way," He murmured, "thy faith hath made thee
whole!"
THE BLIND MAN OF JERICHO.
He sat by the dusty way-side,?With weary, hopeless mien,?On his furrowed brow the traces?Of