Poem July 21, 1951 Issue

LAZARUS SPEAKS

Frances M. Pray

How strange it was at first—
How hard to make them all believe
That I was not a spirit
Moving in their midst,
And when I walked among my friends,
All looked with awe and were afraid.
I talked with them
And told them quietly
That I was Lazarus—alive.
And when they questioned me,
I found it hard to answer them:
"I heard the Master's words,
'Come forth.'"
"How could you hear?" they asked,
"For you were dead."
I could not even try to tell them more.
When Jesus spoke.
It was as if all light were breaking
Deep within my heart,
As if the dawn were there—
The dawn of Life.
Death, a shadow of the dark,
Had disappeared.

How strange that men
So cling to their belief in death
That when one rises from the grave
They doubt and fear,
As if they all preferred
These ancient-worn beliefs
Of death—
Preferred these grim conceptions
To miracles that stir the heart
And lift the thoughts of men
Above the shadowed lands
Where all must die—
Above all this,
To grasp the meaning of a life
That cannot be destroyed.

I pleaded with them,
Longed for all to see the light.
"When Jesus lifted men from death
He proved that others, too,
Can rise above the grave."
I looked in vain
To see a gleam of understanding
Touch the troubled gaze.

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