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Now she could feel
His hands above her hair — the same black hair
That once he made a jest of, praising it,
While Martha’s busy eyes had left their work
To flash with laughing envy. Nothing of that
Was to be theirs again; and such a thought
Was like the flying by of a quick bird
Seen through a shadowy doorway in the twilight.
For now she felt his hands upon her head,
Like weights of kindness: “I forgive you, Mary. . . .
You did not know — Martha could not have known —
Only the Master knew. . . . Where is He now?
Yes, I remember. They came after Him.
May the good God forgive Him. . . . I forgive Him.
I must; and I may know only from Him
The burden of all this. . . . Martha was here —
But I was not yet here. She was afraid. . . .
Why did He do it, Mary? Was it — you?
Was it for you? . . . Where are the friends I saw?
Yes, I remember. They all went away.
I made them go away. . . . Where is He now? . . .
What do I see down there? Do I see Martha —
Down by the door? . . . I must have time for this.”

Lazarus looked about him fearfully,
And then again at Mary, who discovered
Awakening apprehension in his eyes,
And shivered at his feet. All she had feared
Was here; and only in the slow reproach
Of his forgiveness lived his gratitude.
Why had he asked if it was all for her
That he was here? And what had Martha meant?
Why had the Master waited? What was coming
To Lazarus, and to them, that had not come?
What had the Master seen before He came,
That He had come so late?

“Where is He, Mary?”
Lazarus asked again. “Where did He go?”
Once more he gazed about him, and once more
At Mary for an answer. “Have they found Him?
Or did He go away because He wished
Never to look into my eyes again? . . .
That, I could understand. . . . Where is He, Mary?”

“I do not know,” she said. “Yet in my heart
I know that He is living, as you are living —
Living, and here. He is not far from us.
He will come back to us and find us all —
Lazarus, Martha, Mary — everything —
All as it was before. Martha said that.
And He said we were not to be afraid.”
Lazarus closed his eyes while on his face
A tortured adumbration of a smile
Flickered an instant. “All as it was before,”
He murmured wearily. “Martha said that;
And He said you were not to be afraid . . .
Not you . . . Not you . . . Why should you be afraid?
Give all your little fears, and Martha’s with them,
To me; and I will add them unto mine,
Like a few rain-drops to Gennesaret.”

“If you had frightened me in other ways,
Not willing it,” Mary said, “I should have known
You still for Lazarus. But who is this?
Tell me again that you are Lazarus;
And tell me if the Master gave to you
No sign of a new joy that shall be coming
To this house that He loved. Are you afraid?
Are you afraid, who have felt everything —
And seen . . . ?”