Classic Poem

By the sea her memory dwelleth,
Maiden well beloved and fair;
And each loving mother telleth
How the child lay 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 anxious father hastened
Jesus, 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 plashing 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;
Matters not though servant coming
Told him that the child 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;
Clasped the clay-cold little hand, —
Needless is the further telling, —
Death obeyed the 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.