Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold :: :: University of Virginia Library

A woman came to Him, no Israelite,
And poured the passion of her infinite
Sweet sorrow trembling into unshed tears
Of sunrise in the Christ's averted ears.
She cried for mercy on herself; for one
With her the daughter was, who lay undone
And sorely tost, and tortured by the pain
Of pressing evil with its awful chain.
And still each mother's voice that rises up,
To spill its anguished overflowing cup
In quest of pity from the brazen sky,
Bears all the impress of her agony.
She spoke in vain; as from a stony wall
Beat back the echo of her idle call

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And seemed to find no kindly place or part
Of home within that universal Heart,
Which had no room for her lone bitter cry
In its most gentle hospitality.
For never word said He, whose word was life,
To stay the fever of her inward strife,
Which with its tumult tore the mother's breast
And made it one sad sea of wild unrest.
But in the cloud of splendid silence lay,
The lightning Love that yet turned night to day.

II

Again He met a king the KING uncrowned
Himself, and saw the ribald band around
That mocked him with the menaces of hate,
As futile blasts besiege a palace gate
Unopened and unheeded; armèd men
Dealt gibes like sword-cuts; and to Herod's ken
Came back in crimson mist the prophet breath
Of the great Baptist still more great in death,
With the dark record rolling out its map
And words of judgment each a thunder-clap—
Till he remembered. And that figure stood,
Withdrawn from him by the whole heaven of good,
And sadly gazed in his confounded face
In dumb rebuke and all unearthly grace,
While grim about Him seethed the baffled wrath
Of foes disarmed that could not dim His path
To the sublime and certain end. The glare
Of kingly pomp to His world-lifting care
Seemed but the bauble of a fleeting hour,
A thing of shame, the scarlet poppy flower,
And faded as He looked. Earth passed Him by,
Whose Heart held commune with eternity.
Time was a dream, and mean the mighty sword
Against the splendid silence of the Lord.

III

Once more before the judge his Judge supreme
He stood in solitary woe extreme,
And heard the cruel jests and bare the scorn

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Of purple robe and the unregal thorn
And mimic pomp and bowing head and reed
That was His only staff in utter need.
The clash of arms went up, fierce lips did raise
Rude shouts of homage that were yet not praise,
And added greater glory to that lot
Which could not take the semblance of a spot,
And were but witness to His rightful throne
Whereon He judged them all and sat alone.
He saw the wolfish eyes so red with lust
That longed to stamp His kingdom in the dust,
And blast the fair beginnings of new time
With blot of black inexpiable crime.
Again and yet again with flash of steel
And sullen grinding of the iron heel
The question rang, the challenge and the cry
Of doubt or hate that clamoured for reply
But fell as empty sounds upon His ear,
To wake no answer of reproach or fear.
He wrapt His soul from every storm and stress,
In splendid silence like a royal dress.

IV

And yet, when we fling foolish prayers on high,
He answers not in turn, He comes not nigh,
But draws the veil around Him closer still
Through which we guess but fragments of His will
And gather wisdom from the unvoiced speech.
O if in haste or passion men beseech
Forbidden gifts that were no gain, no joys,
But shining shadows or delusive toys,
His choicest blessing and our chiefest boon
Is the response that sleeps and wakes not soon
Or not at all. He talks between the strains
Of melody and rhythmic beats of pains,
More than in these. And when a fateful gloom
Encircles us and visions dark as doom
Pursue our steps, and with sealed lips of scorn
The mute skies bear no message with the morn
Or evening, and we hark and are afraid—
It is His sentence awful if unsaid.

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And though He is the Word and utters loud
His trumpet warnings from behind no shroud,
Yet speaks He plainest when no sound is heard
And in the stillness He is most the Word,
Who loves all notes and speaks all languages
But dwells among the Splendid Silences.