The Prince of the House of David

by J. H. Ingraham

Ruth then cast a bright look upon us, and read aloud the letter from over the sea, which told that the writer would return in the first ship bound to Sidon, or Cesarea, when he hoped to behold her and his mother face to face, and to receive as his bride the maiden he had so long loved and cherished in his heart.

At length, as the day drew near for me to leave, we were all filled with delightful surprise at the appearance of the long-absent son and lover in the midst of our happy circle.

Mary and I had once seen him, and we were now impressed with his manly and sun-browned beauty, his bold air, and frank, ingenuous manner. We could not but agree that the pretty Ruth had shown fine taste. But alas! my dear father, our joy was short-lived! Little did we anticipate how speedily our rejoicing was to end in mourning! The very night of his return he was seized with a malignant fever, which he had brought from Africa with him, and we were all overwhelmed with grief.

It would be impossible to paint the anguish of the mother, the heart-rending distress of his betrothed.

Unconscious of their presence, he raved wildly, and sometimes fancied himself suffering thirst on the burning sands of Africa, and at others battling with barbarians for his life. All that physicians could do was of no avail. This morning, the third day after his return, he expired, amid the most distressing agonies.

Alas! instead of a bridal, behold a funeral! Already the bearers are at the door, and in a few minutes he will be borne forth upon the dead-bier to the burial-place without the city.

"Oh!" sighs Mary near me as I write, "Oh, that Jesus, the mighty Prophet, had been here! He could have healed him!"

John has sent to her a message, saying that Jesus is traveling this way, on his mission of healing and teaching, and may be here this evening. But what will it avail, dear father? Even Jesus may not return the dead to life! Oh, if he could have been here yesterday, his power over disease would have enabled him to save this precious life!

I hear the heavy tread of the dead-bearers in the court below. The shrieks and wails of the mourning-women thrill my soul with awe. But above all pierces the wild cry of anguish of the bereaved mother! Ruth's voice is hushed. She has been for the last hour inanimate as marble. Only by her pulse can it be said she lives! Poor maiden! The blow is too terrible for her to bear.