I see the Master and fall at his feet.
“My daughter is ill. Touch her,”I plead.
I motion for Jesus to follow me home.
The disciples join in—we walk then hear moans
of mourners who gather, their wails and their shouts
turn to sneers and mocking as Jesus cries out.
“She’s not dead, only sleeping. Get out. Leave,” He says.
We walk to the room where my little girl lay.
He holds her limp hand, “Daughter arise.”
She awakes and I see—she is alive!
Oh the Master’s word. The Master’s touch.
Revives. Brings life. Savior thank you so much.
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