| |
| “ROOM for the leper! room!” And as he came | |
| The cry passed on,—“Room for the leper! room!” * * * * * | |
| And aside they stood, | |
| Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood,—all | |
| Who met him on his way,—and let him pass. | 5 |
| And onward through the open gate he came, | |
| A leper with the ashes on his brow, | |
| Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip | |
| A covering, stepping painfully and slow, | |
| And with a difficult utterance, like one | 10 |
| Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down, | |
| Crying, “Unclean! unclean!” * * * * * | |
| Day was breaking | |
| When at the altar of the temple stood | |
| The holy priest of God. The incense-lamp | 15 |
| Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant | |
| Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, | |
| Like an articulate wail, and there, alone, | |
| Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. | |
| The echoes of the melancholy strain | 20 |
| Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, | |
| Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head | |
| Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off | |
| His costly raiment for the leper’s garb, | |
| And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip | 25 |
| Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still, | |
| Waiting to hear his doom:— | |
| |
| “Depart! depart, O child | |
| Of Israel, from the temple of thy God, | |
| For he has smote thee with his chastening rod, | 30 |
| And to the desert wild | |
| From all thou lov’st away thy feet must flee, | |
| That from thy plague his people may be free. | |
| |
| “Depart! and come not near | |
| The busy mart, the crowded city, more; | 35 |
| Nor set thy foot a human threshold o’er; | |
| And stay thou not to hear | |
| Voices that call thee in the way; and fly | |
| From all who in the wilderness pass by. | |
| |
| “Wet not thy burning lip | 40 |
| In streams that to a human dwelling glide; | |
| Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide, | |
| Nor kneel thee down to dip | |
| The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, | |
| By desert well, or river’s grassy brink. | 45 |
| |
| “And pass not thou between | |
| The weary traveller and the cooling breeze, | |
| And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees | |
| Where human tracks are seen; | |
| Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain | 50 |
| Nor pluck the standing corn or yellow grain. | |
| |
| “And now depart! and when | |
| Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, | |
| Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him | |
| Who, from the tribes of men, | 55 |
| Selected thee to feel his chastening rod. | |
| Depart! O leper! and forget not God!” | |
| |
| And he went forth—alone! not one of all | |
| The many whom he loved, nor she whose name | |
| Was woven in the fibres of the heart | 60 |
| Breaking within him now, to come and speak | |
| Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, | |
| Sick and heart-broken and alone,—to die! | |
For God had cursed the leper!
It was noon, | |
| And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool | 65 |
| In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, | |
| Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched | |
| The loathsome water to his fevered lips, | |
| Praying that he might be so blest,—to die! | |
| Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee, | 70 |
| He drew the covering closer on his lip, | |
| Crying, “Unclean! unclean!” and in the folds | |
| Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face, | |
| He fell upon the earth till they should pass. | |
| Nearer the stranger came, and, bending o’er | 75 |
| The leper’s prostrate form, pronounced his name. | |
| —“Helon!”—the voice was like the master-tone | |
| Of a rich instrument,—most strangely sweet; | |
| And the dull pulses of disease awoke, | |
| And for a moment beat beneath the hot | 80 |
| And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. | |
| “Helon! arise!” and he forgot his curse, | |
And rose and stood before him.
Love and awe | |
| Mingled in the regard of Helon’s eye | |
| As he beheld the stranger. He was not | 85 |
| In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow | |
| The symbol of a princely lineage wore; | |
| No followers at his back, nor in his hand | |
| Buckler or sword or spear,—yet in his mien | |
| Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled, | 90 |
| A kingly condescension graced his lips | |
| The lion would have crouched to in his lair. | |
| His garb was simple, and his sandals worn; | |
| His stature modelled with a perfect grace; | |
| His countenance, the impress of a God, | 95 |
| Touched with the open innocence of a child; | |
| His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky | |
| In the serenest noon; his hair unshorn | |
| Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard | |
| The fulness of perfected manhood bore. | 100 |
| He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, | |
| As if his heart was moved, and, stooping down, | |
| He took a little water in his hand | |
| And laid it on his brow, and said, “Be clean!” | |
| And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood | 105 |
| Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins, | |
| And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow | |
| The dewy softness of an infant’s stole. | |
| His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down | |
| Prostrate at Jesus’ feet, and worshipped him. | 110 |
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