When Lazarus left his charnel-cave,
⁠And home to Mary's house return'd,
⁠Was this demanded—if he yearn'd
To 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 die
Had surely added praise to praise.

From every house the neighbours met,
⁠The streets were fill'd with joyful sound,
⁠A solemn gladness even crown'd
The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ!
⁠The rest remaineth unreveal'd;
⁠He told it not; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.