Quivered upon the fine and sleeping dust,
And the cold snake crept panting from the wall,
And basked his scaly circles in the sun.
Upon his spear the soldier leaned, and kept
His idle watch, and, as his drowsy dream
Was broken by the solitary foot
Of some poor mendicant, he raised his head
To curse him for a tributary Jew,
And slumberously dozed on.
The dull, low murmur of a funeral
Went through the city, the sad sound of feet
Unmixed with voices, and the sentinel
Shook off his slumber, and gazed earnestly
Up the wide streets along whose paved way
The silent throng crept slowly. They came on,
Bearing a body heavily on its bier,
And, by the crowd that in the burning sun
Walked with forgetful sadness, 't was of one
Mourned with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate
Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent
His spear-point downwards as the bearers passed,
Bending beneath their burden. There was one,
Only one mourner. Close behind the bier,
Crumpling the pall up in her withered hands,
Followed an aged woman. Her short steps
Faltered with weakness, and a broken moan
Fell from her lips, thickened convulsively
As her heart bled afresh. The pitying crowd
Followed apart, but no one spoke to her.
She had no kinsmen. She had lived alone,
A widow with one son. He was her all,-
The only tie she had in the wide world,
And he was dead. They could not comfort her.
Jesus drew near to Nain as from the gate
The funeral came forth. His lips were pale
With the noon's sultry heat. The beaded sweat
Stood thickly on his brow, and on the worn
And simple latchets of his sandals lay,
Thick, the white dust of travel. He had come
Since sunrise from Capernaum, staying not
To wet his lips by green Bethsaida's pool,
Nor wash his feet in Kishon's silver springs,
Nor turn him southward upon Tabor's side
To catch Gilboa's light and spicy breeze.
Genesareth stood cool upon the cast,
Fast by the Sea of Galilce, and there
The weary traveller might bide till eve;
And on the alders of Bethulia's plains
The grapes of Palestine hung ripe and wild;
Yet turned he not aside, but gazing on,
From every swelling mount he saw afar,
Amid the hills, the humble spires of Nain,
The place of his next errand; and the path
Touched not Bethulia, and a league away ́
Upon the east lay pleasant Galilee.
Forth from the city-gate the pitying crowd
Followed the stricken mourner. They came near
The place of burial, and with straining hands
Closer upon her breast she clasped the pall,
And with a gasping sob, quick as a child's,
And an inquiring wildness flashing through
The thin gray lashes of her fevered eyes,
She came where Jesus stood beside the way.
He looked upon her, and his heart was moved.
Weep not!" he said; and as they stayed the bier, And at his bidding laid it at his feet,
He gently drew the pall from out her grasp,
And laid it back in silence from the dead.
With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near,
And gazed on his calm looks. A minute's space
He stood and prayed. Then, taking the cold hand,
He said, "Arise!" And instantly the breast
Heaved in its cerements, and a sudden flush
Ran through the lines of the divided lips,
And with a murmur of his mother's name,
He trembled and sat upright in his shroud.
And, while the mourner hung upon his neck,
Jesus went calmly on his way to Nain.
PON the banks of Jordan,
The host of Israel's name,
All Jacob's seed encampéd,
Who out of Egypt came.
There lay the tribes, wide-spreading,-
There rest the pilgrims found,
Weary, with long years treading
The sandy desert round.
There from their hands the wanderers
Their staves have laid aside,
And spread them woollen blankets,
Their girdles loosening wide!
And on their robes reclining
In picturesque array,
The brown and swarthy travellers,
With beards dark-curling, lay.
Their tent-staves there were pitchéd,
Their linen veils outspread,
And in the midst was raiséd
The Tabernacle's head.
Between them and the sunbeams
Green foliage shadow flings,
They filled their leathern bottles
At fresh cool water-springs.
With oil their bodies laving,
They washed away the sand;
The driver there was stroking
The camel with his hand;
And in the pastures round them
The quiet cattle lay;
Wild horses stared and bounded
With flowing manes away.
The weary joined in praises,
With hands upraised to heaven,
That now to all their travels
The longed-for end was given.
But some were busy whetting
Their swords with eager hand,
To combat for the pastures
Of their rich green fatherland.
It seemed for them awaiting,
A land of endless store,
Like God's own garden smiling
On Jordan's other shore.
Through many a desert-journey
In spirit they had seen
That land of milk and honey,
Now lying there so green!
They shouted in the valley
"Canaan!" with joyous tone,
Their leader up the pathway
Of the mountain toiled alone.
His snow-white locks were flowing
About his shoulders spread,
And golden beams were glowing
Upon his reverend head.
To see the promised country,
Before he died, intent,
Rapt in the glorious vision,
He, trembling, forwards bent.
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