Jarius

My daughter was twelve and she was dying
We so distraught, worn out with our crying
I'm a synagogue ruler, a Jewish priest
But disease no respecter from highest to least

Because of my office, I was able to call
The local physicians, we contacted them all,
But the child was no better if anything, worse,
No answer from God, were we under a curse?

I made a decision this Jesus to seek,
My Jewish superiors did accusingly speak.
'This man is an apostate our faith is denying.'
To them I replied 'but your child's not dying.'

It was not a secret what Jesus was doing
Healing so many, a man worth pursuing.
I fell at His feet, made this tearful plea,
'I have a sick child, come home with me.'

Then on the way home I had to wait,
He dealt with this woman's physical state.
I witnessed a miracle, but then what I'd dread
'Don't bother the Master, your daughter's dead.'

'Do not be afraid, just believe,' he appealed,
I hurried along with that word as my shield,
Then into the house, around the child's bed
My wife and I, plus three others, He led.

Outside the house, mourners wailing so deep,
He said, 'do be quiet, this child's just asleep.'
They laughed at his words, 'the child's truly dead.'
He took hold of her hand, then the Lord said,

'My child get up.' She stood straight to her feet
His next command, 'Give her something to eat.'
We laughed and shed tears, He said, 'Don't tell.'
But everyone's heard she's alive and quite well.