When Lazarus left his charnel-cave, And home to Mary's house return'd, Was this demanded—if he yearn'dTo 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 dieHad surely added praise to praise.
From every house the neighbours met, The streets were fill'd with joyful sound, A solemn gladness even crown'dThe purple brows of Olivet.
Behold a man raised up by Christ! The rest remaineth unreveal'd; He told it not; or something seal'dThe lips of that Evangelist.