Part 2 (1/2)

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 pa.s.sers-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 t.i.tle, 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 G.o.d 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-b.a.l.l.s 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 G.o.d!

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 G.o.d-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.