5
POEMS.
THE SYROPHENICIAN WOMAN.
Joy to my bosom! rest to my fear!
Judea's prophet draweth near!
Joy to my bosom! peace to my heart!
Sickness and sorrow before him depart!
Judea's prophet draweth near!
Joy to my bosom! peace to my heart!
Sickness and sorrow before him depart!
Rack'd with agony and pain,
Writhing, long my child has lain;
Now the prophet draweth near,
All our griefs shall disappear.
Writhing, long my child has lain;
Now the prophet draweth near,
All our griefs shall disappear.
"Lord!" she cried with mournful breath,
"Save! Oh, save my child from death!"
But as though she was unheard,
Jesus answered not a word.
"Save! Oh, save my child from death!"
But as though she was unheard,
Jesus answered not a word.
With a purpose nought could move,
And the zeal of woman's love,
Down she knelt in anguish wild—
"Master! save, Oh! save my child!"
And the zeal of woman's love,
Down she knelt in anguish wild—
"Master! save, Oh! save my child!"
