The Poetical Works | Page 6

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 care and want were seen;
With
outstretched hand and with bowed-down head
He asked the
passers-by for bread.
The palm-tree's feathery foliage
Around him thickly grew,
And the
smiling sky above him
Wore Syria's sun-bright hue;
But dark alike
to that helpless one
Was murky midnight or noon-tide sun.
But voices breaking the silence
Are heard, fast drawing nigh,
And
falls on his ear the clamor
Of vast crowds moving by:
"What is it?"
he asks, with panting breath;
They answer: "Jesus of Nazareth."
What a spell lay in that title,
Linked with such mem'ries high
Of
miracles of mercy,
Wrought 'neath Judaea's sky!
Loud calls he, with
pleading voice and brow,
"Oh! Jesus, on me have mercy now!"
How often had he listened
To wond'rous tales of love--
Of the
Galilean's mercy,
Of power from above,
To none other given of
mortal birth
To heal the afflicted sons of earth.
With faith that never wavered
Still louder rose his cry,
Despite the
stern rebuking
Of many standing nigh,
Who bade him stifle his
grief or joy,
Nor "the Master rudely thus annoy."
But, soon that voice imploring
Struck on the Saviour's ear,
He
stopped, and to His followers
He said "Go bring him here!"
And,

turning towards him that God like brow,
He asked the suppliant,
"What wouldest thou?"
Though with awe and hope all trembling,
Yet courage gaineth he,

And imploringly he murmurs:
"Oh Lord! I fain would see!"
The
Saviour says in accents low:
"Thy faith hath saved thee--be it so!"
Then on those darkened eye-balls
A wondrous radiance beamed,

And they drank in the glorious beauty
That through all nature
gleamed;
But the fairest sight they rested on
Was the Saviour,
David's royal Son.
O rapture past all telling!
The bliss that vision brought!
Could a
whole life's praises thank Him
For the wonder He had wrought?
Yet
is Jesus the same to-day as then,
Bringing light and joy to the souls of
men.
THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE.
The place is fair and tranquil, Judaea's cloudless sky
Smiles down on
distant mountain, on glade and valley nigh,
And odorous winds bring
fragrance from palm-tops darkly green, And olive trees whose branches
wave softly o'er the scene.
Whence comes the awe-struck feeling that fills the gazer's
breast,
The breath, quick-drawn and panting, the awe, the solemn rest?
What strange and holy magic seems earth and air to fill,
That worldly
thoughts and feelings are now all hushed and still?
Ah! here, one solemn evening, in ages long gone by,
A mourner knelt
and sorrowed beneath the starlit sky,
And He whose drops of anguish
bedewed the sacred sod
Was Lord of earth and heaven, our Saviour
and our God!
Hark to the mournful whispers from olive leaf and bough!
They

fanned His aching temples, His damp and grief-struck brow; Hark! how
the soft winds murmur with low and grieving tone! They heard His
words of anguish, they heard each sigh and moan.
Alone in deepest agony, while tired apostles slept;
No one to share
His vigil--weep with Him as He wept;
Before Him, clearly rising, the
Cross, the dying pain,
And sins of hosts unnumbered whose souls He
dies to gain.
O Garden of Gethsemane! the God-like lesson, then
Left as a
precious token to suff'ring, sorrowing men,
Has breaking hearts oft
strengthened, that else, so sharply
tried,
Had sunk beneath sin's burden and in despair had died.
O Garden of Gethsemane! "when pressed and sore afraid,"
May I in
spirit enter beneath thine olive shade,
And, great though be my
anguish, still, like that God-like One, Submissive say: "Oh Father! Thy
will, not mine, be done!"
MYSTICAL ROSE, PRAY FOR US!
O aptly named, Illustrious One!
Thou art that flower fair
That filled
this vast and changeful world
With mystic perfume rare--
Shedding
on all the balmy breath
Of countless virtues high,
Rising like
fragrant odours rich,
To God's far, beauteous sky.
Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
For, as 'mid brightest flowers
The
lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
The Queen of Nature's bowers,
So
'mid the daughters fair of Eve
Art thou the peerless One!
The
chosen handmaid of the Lord!
The Mother of His Son!
Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
Which could thy beauty grace;

And ne'er did sin, e'en for one hour,
Thy spotless soul deface,
For
from the first thou had'st the power
God's fav'ring love to win;
It
was His will that thou should'st be
Conceived devoid of sin.

Oh, Mother dear, obtain for us
That we from evil flee;
Throughout
this, fleeting life's career
Mayst thou our model be!
Seek we to
imitate the gifts
That thy pure soul adorn--
Sweet flower of beauty
and of grace!
Fair Rose without a thorn!
MATER CHRISTIANORUM, ORA PRO NOBIS!