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JAIRUS at the feet of CHRISTUS. O MASTER! I entreat thee! I implore thee! | |
| My daughter lieth at the point of death; | |
| I pray thee come and lay thy hands upon her, | |
And she shall live!
CHRISTUS. Who was it touched my garments? | |
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SIMON PETER. Thou seest the multitude that throng and press thee, | 5 |
| And sayest thou: Who touched me? ’T was not I. | |
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CHRISTUS. Some one hath touched my garments; I perceive | |
That virtue is gone out of me.
A WOMAN. O Master! | |
| Forgive me! For I said within myself, | |
| If I so much as touch his garment’s hem, | 10 |
I shall be whole.
HRISTUS. Be of good comfort, daughter! | |
| Thy faith hath made thee whole. Depart in peace. | |
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A MESSENGER from the house. Why troublest thou the Master? Hearest thou not | |
| The flute-players, and the voices of the women | |
| Singing their lamentation? She is dead! | 15 |
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THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. We have girded ourselves with sackcloth! | |
| 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 | 20 |
| They pour out their souls like water! | |
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CHRISTUS, going in. Give place. Why make ye this ado, and weep? | |
She is not dead, but sleepeth.
THE MOTHER, from within. Cruel Death! | |
| To take away from me this tender blossom! | |
| To take away my dove, my lamb, my darling! | 25 |
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THE MINSTRELS AND MOURNERS. He hath led me and brought into darkness, | |
| 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, | 30 |
| That our prayer should not pass through and reach him! | |
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THE CROWD. He stands beside her bed! He takes her hand! | |
Listen, he speaks to her!
CHRISTUS, within. Maiden, arise! | |
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THE CROWD. See, she obeys his voice! She stirs! She lives! | |
| Her mother holds her folded in her arms! | 35 |
| O miracle of miracles! O marvel! | |
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