Talitha Cumi
Secretary of the American Holy Land Exploration.
[The story of Jesus and the little daughter of Jairus; as they told it to me at the
Sea of Galilee, in 1868.]
BY the sea, her memory dwelleth,
Maiden, well-beloved and fair,
And each loving mother telleth
How she lay a dying there;
How she lay, that sweet one, dying!
Only child there was no more
While the oriental crying
Swelled the murmurs of the shore:
So they tell it by the sea
Of the placid Galilee
How the weeping father hastened,
Christ, a present help, to meet;
And with awful sorrow chastened,
Fell imploring at his feet:
Master oh, my little daughter
Only child about. to die -
While the dashing of the water
Mocked at his despairing cry:
So they tell it by the sea
Of the storm-tossed Galilee.
How the Lord, no tarry making,
Through the thronged and narrow street,
Hastened to a wondrous waking.
Such as every saint shall meet.
Mattered not though servant coming
Said the little one was dead;
And the breakers hoarsely booming
All the mournful message spread:
So they tell it by the sea
Of the dirge-like. Galilee.
How He found the stricken dwelling.
How he clasped the clay-cold hand,
Needless is the further telling,
Death obeyed his Lord's command.
While those waters roll, the story
Of the maiden will remain,
Promise of the greater glory
When the Christ shall come again:
So they think along the sea
Of this much-loved Galilee.
ROBERT MORRIS,