The Ruler’s Daughter

Could the crea­tures help or ease us

Seldom should we think of pray­er;

Few

if any

come to Je­sus

Till re­duced to self des­pair;

Long we ei­ther slight or doubt Him

But when all the means we try

Prove we can­not do with­out Him

Then at last to Him we cry.

Thus the rul­er when his daugh­ter

Suffered much

though Christ was nigh

Still de­ferred it

till he thought her

At the ve­ry point to die;

Though he mourned for her con­di­tion

He did not en­treat the Lord

Till he found that no phy­si­cian

But Him­self

could help af­ford.

Jesus did not once up­braid him

That he had no soon­er come;

But a gra­cious an­swer made him

And went straight­way with him home;

Yet his faith was put to tri­al

When his serv­ants came and said

Though he gave thee no de­ni­al

’Tis too late—the child is dead.

Jesus

to pre­vent his griev­ing

Kindly spoke and eased his pain;

Be not fear­ful

but be­liev­ing

Thou shalt see her live again;

When He found the peo­ple weep­ing

Cease

He said

no long­er mourn;

For she is not dead

but sleep­ing;

Then they laughed Him to scorn.

O Thou meek and lowly Sav­ior

How de­ter­mined is Thy love!

Not this rude

un­kind be­hav­ior

Could Thy gra­cious pur­pose move;

Soon as He the room had en­tered

Spoke

and took her by the hand;

Death at once his prey sur­ren­dered

And she lived at His com­mand.

Fear not then

dis­tressed be­liev­er

Venture on His migh­ty name;

He is able to de­li­ver

And His love is still the same;

Can His pi­ty or His pow­er

Suffer thee to pray in vain?

Wait but His ap­point­ed hour

And thy suit thou shalt ob­tain.