"Depart! depart, O child
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God!
For He has smote thee with His chastening rod,
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;
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
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.
"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
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,
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
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
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying he might be so blest—to die!
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
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
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
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
In costly raiment clad, nor on His brow
The symbol of a lofty 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,
A kingly condescension graced His lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and His sandals worn;
His statue modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
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.
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
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 worshiped him.
N. P. Willis.