 | Songs in the twilight |  |
84
KING DAVID.
Up and down his lonely chamber
Paced the King with breaking heart,
Struggling with a hopeless sorrow,—
Like a stricken deer, apart;
Paced the King with breaking heart,
Struggling with a hopeless sorrow,—
Like a stricken deer, apart;
Wan his face, and very haggard—
Furrowed all his brow with care;
Great drops stood upon his forehead;
From his eyes stared grim despair.
Furrowed all his brow with care;
Great drops stood upon his forehead;
From his eyes stared grim despair.
Wrung he sore his hands in anguish,
Whilst the tears fell thick and fast,
And his manly frame was shaken
Like a reed before the blast.
Whilst the tears fell thick and fast,
And his manly frame was shaken
Like a reed before the blast.
Oft in faltering broken accents,
Which betrayed a soul undone,
Raising weeping eyes to heaven,
Wailed he out, “My son! my son!”
Which betrayed a soul undone,
Raising weeping eyes to heaven,
Wailed he out, “My son! my son!”
85
“Absalom, my own, my dear one,
Dearer than all sons to me;
Absalom, my loved and lost one,
Would that I had died for thee!”
Dearer than all sons to me;
Absalom, my loved and lost one,
Would that I had died for thee!”
Thus he sobbed forth his deep sorrow,
Moaning ever, moaning low;
All the spirit torn and tortured
With the greatness of his woe.
Moaning ever, moaning low;
All the spirit torn and tortured
With the greatness of his woe.
Where were now the fascination,
Glories of the hair and face,
All the grace and all the glamour,
Pride of honour, pomp of place?
Glories of the hair and face,
All the grace and all the glamour,
Pride of honour, pomp of place?
Dimmed the splendour and the beauty,
Sullied, faded, soiled, brought low;
On his lips the seal of silence,
Death's cold hand upon his brow.
Sullied, faded, soiled, brought low;
On his lips the seal of silence,
Death's cold hand upon his brow.
In that grief so wild and piteous,
Did the King recall his shame?
Did no thought of foul transgression
Scorch and scathe his soul like flame?
Did the King recall his shame?
Did no thought of foul transgression
Scorch and scathe his soul like flame?
86
Passed before his mind the murder,
Dead Uriah's bloody grave;
How, by craft and cruel counsel,
He was slain the true and brave?
Dead Uriah's bloody grave;
How, by craft and cruel counsel,
He was slain the true and brave?
Thought he how his guilty passion
Struck at honour, name, and fame;
Wrought the husband's dark undoing,
And Bath-Shua's utter shame?
Struck at honour, name, and fame;
Wrought the husband's dark undoing,
And Bath-Shua's utter shame?
Through his weeping and his mourning
Thrilled no voice upon his ear,
Like the trump of judgment sounding,
Shaking all his soul with fear?
Thrilled no voice upon his ear,
Like the trump of judgment sounding,
Shaking all his soul with fear?
Ah, what mem'ries wrung his spirit,
Desolate, bereft, undone,
Forced that cry of desolation—
“Absalom, my son! my son!”
Desolate, bereft, undone,
Forced that cry of desolation—
“Absalom, my son! my son!”
For again the Prophet's judgment,
Terrible, intrepid, calm,
Smote with fear the quailing monarch,
Robber of the poor man's lamb.
Terrible, intrepid, calm,
Smote with fear the quailing monarch,
Robber of the poor man's lamb.
87
Now he sees the flashing aspect,
Hears once more the damning ban,
As the Seer brands the sinner,
“Thou, O David, art the man!”
Hears once more the damning ban,
As the Seer brands the sinner,
“Thou, O David, art the man!”
But the climax of his anguish,
Torture added to his pain,
Was the deed of dark rebellion
In which Absalom was slain.
Torture added to his pain,
Was the deed of dark rebellion
In which Absalom was slain.
Absalom, the loved and cherished,
Nearest, dearest to his heart,
Traitor to his crown and kingdom!
—This it was that barbed the dart.
Nearest, dearest to his heart,
Traitor to his crown and kingdom!
—This it was that barbed the dart.
Was there hope for one so guilty,
Cut off reckless in his sin?
Would for him God's heaven open?
Could such sinner enter in?
Cut off reckless in his sin?
Would for him God's heaven open?
Could such sinner enter in?
This the crown of all his sorrow;
Ah, this left him woe-begone,
Wrung that cry of sore bereavement,
“Absalom, my son! my son!”
Ah, this left him woe-begone,
Wrung that cry of sore bereavement,
“Absalom, my son! my son!”
88
In this world where woe and sadness
Are but as a common thing,
Grief for life gone out in darkness,
Has than all a fiercer sting.
Are but as a common thing,
Grief for life gone out in darkness,
Has than all a fiercer sting.
Ah, no pang is half so poignant,
Sorrow greater there is none,
Than beside a hopeless death-bed,
To wail out, “My son! my son!”
Sorrow greater there is none,
Than beside a hopeless death-bed,
To wail out, “My son! my son!”
Then the racked and tortured spirit,
Musing on the dark to be,
Sobs aloud in piteous angish,
“Would God I had died for thee!”
Musing on the dark to be,
Sobs aloud in piteous angish,
“Would God I had died for thee!”
| Songs in the twilight | |