ALFRED TENNYSON.
THE RAISING OF LAZARUS.
When Lazarus left his charnel cave,
And home to Mary's house returned,
Was this demanded—if he yearned
To hear her weeping by his grave?
"Where wert thou, brother, those four days?"
There lives no record of reply,
Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.
From every house the neighbors met,
The streets were filled with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crowned
The purple brows of Olivet.
Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unrevealed;
He told it not; or something sealed
The lips of that Evangelist.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.
Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.
All subtle thought, all curious fears
Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.