 | The Two Brothers, and other poems |  |
93
EZEKIEL.
A SEATONIAN PRIZE POEM.
“O navis, referent in mare te novi
Fluctus? O quid agis? fortiter occupa
Portum.”
Fluctus? O quid agis? fortiter occupa
Portum.”
A day of many clouds, and sudden showers,
And breaks of golden sunshine!—calmly now
On yonder cottage of the valley, lying
Embosom'd in the guardian hills and woods,
Rests, like a father's smile, the parting flush
Of evening: and of all the frequent storms
But few have broken on the peasant's roof
In that sequester'd glen; and, having shed
Their quick tears almost ere they woke alarm,
Pass'd as a dream in lucid light away.
But he whose watch is builded on the ridge
Of the snow-crested Apennines, awe-struck
Has mark'd the rising storm-clouds one by one,
The which have cast their shadow on his soul,
Though most have parted to the right or left,
And fall'n on other lands. Such was thy life,
Ezekiel, prophet of the Lord of Hosts,
And sentinel of Israel's destinies.
Let others nestling in secluded homes,
The narrow circle of themselves and theirs,
Ask of the present hour its joy or grief:—
Thy eagle soul was nursed and nerved to climb
Through winds and tempests sun-ward, or to stand
Alone upon the everlasting hills,
And with a patriot's and a prophet's eye
Read the vex'd future, and the calm beyond.
And breaks of golden sunshine!—calmly now
On yonder cottage of the valley, lying
Embosom'd in the guardian hills and woods,
Rests, like a father's smile, the parting flush
Of evening: and of all the frequent storms
But few have broken on the peasant's roof
In that sequester'd glen; and, having shed
Their quick tears almost ere they woke alarm,
Pass'd as a dream in lucid light away.
But he whose watch is builded on the ridge
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Has mark'd the rising storm-clouds one by one,
The which have cast their shadow on his soul,
Though most have parted to the right or left,
And fall'n on other lands. Such was thy life,
Ezekiel, prophet of the Lord of Hosts,
And sentinel of Israel's destinies.
Let others nestling in secluded homes,
The narrow circle of themselves and theirs,
Ask of the present hour its joy or grief:—
Thy eagle soul was nursed and nerved to climb
Through winds and tempests sun-ward, or to stand
Alone upon the everlasting hills,
And with a patriot's and a prophet's eye
Read the vex'd future, and the calm beyond.
Dark are the landscapes of a fallen world,
And dark must be the thunder-clouds that roll
Above them; and no eye but His who dwells
Pavilion'd in eternity, and sees
The everlasting Sabbath imaged there,
Might dare to scan in comprehensive view
The desolations of six thousand years
.
His hand was on thee, holy seer : His voice
Commission'd thee as His ambassador
To Israel and the nations: but or ever
He bared the secrets of futurity,
In mystic vision He unveil'd Himself,
The brightness of His glory, the express
Image of His eternal Godhead . Else,
Ezekiel, had thy soul unequal proved
To grasp the awful counsels of His will,
Or haply had been lifted up, like his
Who, first and noblest of created beings,
Son of the morning, peerless Lucifer,
Fell ruinous from heaven, and with him dragg'd
Bright myriads into outer darkness down.
And dark must be the thunder-clouds that roll
Above them; and no eye but His who dwells
Pavilion'd in eternity, and sees
The everlasting Sabbath imaged there,
Might dare to scan in comprehensive view
95
His hand was on thee, holy seer : His voice
Commission'd thee as His ambassador
To Israel and the nations: but or ever
He bared the secrets of futurity,
In mystic vision He unveil'd Himself,
The brightness of His glory, the express
Image of His eternal Godhead . Else,
Ezekiel, had thy soul unequal proved
To grasp the awful counsels of His will,
Or haply had been lifted up, like his
Who, first and noblest of created beings,
Son of the morning, peerless Lucifer,
Fell ruinous from heaven, and with him dragg'd
Bright myriads into outer darkness down.
But never minstrel uninspired may catch
The stern unearthly music of thy harp
Prophetic, nor with imitative notes
Tell what thou saw'st, where Chebar's crystal waves
Refresh'd thy solitary exile: when
There came dense cloud and whirlwind from the north,
And fiery wreaths of flame, fold within fold,
And brightness as of glowing amber, round
Those living creatures inexpressible .
Of human likeness seem'd they, clad with wings
Of Cherubim, like burning coals of fire
Or lamps that flash'd as lightnings to and fro;
Straight moving, where the Spirit will'd. Beneath
Wheels rush'd, set with innumerable eyes,
Wheel within wheel of beryl, and instinct
With one pervading Spirit: over-head
The firmament of crystal, terrible
In its transparent brightness stretch'd. They rose,
And lo, the rushing of their wings appear'd
The roll of mighty waters, or the shout
Of countless multitudes: until, the voice
Of God above them sounding eminent,
Straightway they stood and droop'd their awful wings.
And far above the firmament behold
The likeness of a sapphire throne: and there,
Mysterious presage of the Incarnate, shone
The likeness of a man; human He was
In every lineament, yet likest God,
Clad with the glory of amber and of fire:
Pure light amid the impenetrable dark,
Insufferably radiant, till it wrote
The arch of mercy on the clouds of wrath,
And with its zone of soften'd rainbow hues,
Gold, emerald , and vermilion, spann'd the throne.
The stern unearthly music of thy harp
96
Tell what thou saw'st, where Chebar's crystal waves
Refresh'd thy solitary exile: when
There came dense cloud and whirlwind from the north,
And fiery wreaths of flame, fold within fold,
And brightness as of glowing amber, round
Those living creatures inexpressible .
Of human likeness seem'd they, clad with wings
Of Cherubim, like burning coals of fire
Or lamps that flash'd as lightnings to and fro;
Straight moving, where the Spirit will'd. Beneath
Wheels rush'd, set with innumerable eyes,
Wheel within wheel of beryl, and instinct
With one pervading Spirit: over-head
The firmament of crystal, terrible
In its transparent brightness stretch'd. They rose,
And lo, the rushing of their wings appear'd
The roll of mighty waters, or the shout
Of countless multitudes: until, the voice
Of God above them sounding eminent,
Straightway they stood and droop'd their awful wings.
97
The likeness of a sapphire throne: and there,
Mysterious presage of the Incarnate, shone
The likeness of a man; human He was
In every lineament, yet likest God,
Clad with the glory of amber and of fire:
Pure light amid the impenetrable dark,
Insufferably radiant, till it wrote
The arch of mercy on the clouds of wrath,
And with its zone of soften'd rainbow hues,
Gold, emerald , and vermilion, spann'd the throne.
His hand was on thee, prophet, in that hour:
Prostrate in adoration at His feet
His voice revived thee, or thy soul had sunk
Unstrengthen'd to endure such massive weight
Of glory. But enough—thine eyes have seen
The King, the Lord of Hosts, Emmanuel;
And henceforth in the panoply of God
Arm'd, thou canst front the lowering looks of man.
The powers of hell discomfit, and athwart
The troublous ocean-floods of time look forth
Firm as the rooted rocks. Such hidden springs
Of strength the vision of the Almighty gives.
So he who bow'd before the burning bush
Quail'd not in Pharaoh's presence. He who led
The hosts of Israel forth victoriously,
First stood before their Captain and his own
And worshipp'd . But the time would fail to tell
Of Mamre's plain, and Peniel's midnight hour,
Of warriors, and the goodly fellowship
Of prophets, and apostles, who beheld
In vision or in blest society
Jehovah's glory, ere they turn'd to flight
The armies of the aliens, or proclaim'd
His advent, or in faith impregnable
Storm'd the proud ramparts of a rebel world,
And on the crumbling citadel of Rome
Raised gloriously the standard of the Cross.
Prostrate in adoration at His feet
His voice revived thee, or thy soul had sunk
Unstrengthen'd to endure such massive weight
Of glory. But enough—thine eyes have seen
The King, the Lord of Hosts, Emmanuel;
And henceforth in the panoply of God
Arm'd, thou canst front the lowering looks of man.
The powers of hell discomfit, and athwart
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Firm as the rooted rocks. Such hidden springs
Of strength the vision of the Almighty gives.
So he who bow'd before the burning bush
Quail'd not in Pharaoh's presence. He who led
The hosts of Israel forth victoriously,
First stood before their Captain and his own
And worshipp'd . But the time would fail to tell
Of Mamre's plain, and Peniel's midnight hour,
Of warriors, and the goodly fellowship
Of prophets, and apostles, who beheld
In vision or in blest society
Jehovah's glory, ere they turn'd to flight
The armies of the aliens, or proclaim'd
His advent, or in faith impregnable
Storm'd the proud ramparts of a rebel world,
And on the crumbling citadel of Rome
Raised gloriously the standard of the Cross.
Nor needless was the strength of heaven: for bleak
And bitter were the wintry storms that swept
Thy destined path, Ezekiel: unto grief
No stranger thou. Softly thy childhood smiled
Around thee in thy far-off fatherland:
A mother's tears of joy upon thy cheeks
Had fallen, brief as dewdrops, which the Spring
Sips from the waking flowers; and through thy soul
A father's benediction had diffused
Its life-long balm: and soon the priesthood claim'd
In Salem'd courts thy white-robed ministries.
How dear the memories of that holy shrine
Amid unrest and exile! Israel's sins
Had drain'd the last of heaven's long-suffering,
And vengeance might not slumber more. The storm,
Whose skirts enfolded Palestina, fell
Upon thy guilty walls, Jerusalem,
With fiercest bolts of ruin and of wreck .
Before its path the land of Eden bloom'd,
Behind there lay one desolate wilderness.
Nor now avails it from a thousand homes
Blacken'd with blood and flames, to single thine:
One of the darkest pictures which the Past
Hides trembling. Fatherless and motherless,
Reft of thy brethren, home, and native land,
Torn from the bleeding altars of thy God,
They spared thee to adorn the purple pride
Of Asshur's triumph, and then cast thee forth
To hang thy exiled harp by Chebar's streams.
And bitter were the wintry storms that swept
99
No stranger thou. Softly thy childhood smiled
Around thee in thy far-off fatherland:
A mother's tears of joy upon thy cheeks
Had fallen, brief as dewdrops, which the Spring
Sips from the waking flowers; and through thy soul
A father's benediction had diffused
Its life-long balm: and soon the priesthood claim'd
In Salem'd courts thy white-robed ministries.
How dear the memories of that holy shrine
Amid unrest and exile! Israel's sins
Had drain'd the last of heaven's long-suffering,
And vengeance might not slumber more. The storm,
Whose skirts enfolded Palestina, fell
Upon thy guilty walls, Jerusalem,
With fiercest bolts of ruin and of wreck .
Before its path the land of Eden bloom'd,
Behind there lay one desolate wilderness.
Nor now avails it from a thousand homes
Blacken'd with blood and flames, to single thine:
100
Hides trembling. Fatherless and motherless,
Reft of thy brethren, home, and native land,
Torn from the bleeding altars of thy God,
They spared thee to adorn the purple pride
Of Asshur's triumph, and then cast thee forth
To hang thy exiled harp by Chebar's streams.
Little they dream'd in their delirious mirth
The might that slumber'd in those shatter'd chords.
Thy spirit was bruised, not broken: time has lost
Its spell—eternity has fill'd thy heart:
Thy early home is drench'd with tears and blood,
And, lo, before thee rises dimly grand
Thy mansion in the heavens. What if the dews
And summer rivulets of life, its fresh
And first affections, have been wither'd up
Untimely, in thy spirit's inmost depths
Unseen the springs of heavenly love gush forth,
And make low music in the ear of God.
The might that slumber'd in those shatter'd chords.
Thy spirit was bruised, not broken: time has lost
Its spell—eternity has fill'd thy heart:
Thy early home is drench'd with tears and blood,
And, lo, before thee rises dimly grand
Thy mansion in the heavens. What if the dews
And summer rivulets of life, its fresh
And first affections, have been wither'd up
Untimely, in thy spirit's inmost depths
Unseen the springs of heavenly love gush forth,
And make low music in the ear of God.
His hand was on thee, and His Spirit breathed
In thy stern oracles, what time alone
Thou wentest forth in bitterness of soul,
Unbending, unattracted, undismay'd,
With adamantine forehead to confront
Faces of adamant and hearts of stone :
Seven days a voiceless witness, communing
With God in silence. But the Sabbath came ,
And with it all its holy memories,
And thoughts of Zion and Jerusalem;
And, breeze-like from the hills of heaven, again
The echo of angelic harmonies,
And rushing of the wings of cherubim
Swept o'er thy spirit. Then thy tongue was loosed;
Nor longer mute, the harp of prophecy
Woke to thy raptured touch its strains of fire.
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Thou wentest forth in bitterness of soul,
Unbending, unattracted, undismay'd,
With adamantine forehead to confront
Faces of adamant and hearts of stone :
Seven days a voiceless witness, communing
With God in silence. But the Sabbath came ,
And with it all its holy memories,
And thoughts of Zion and Jerusalem;
And, breeze-like from the hills of heaven, again
The echo of angelic harmonies,
And rushing of the wings of cherubim
Swept o'er thy spirit. Then thy tongue was loosed;
Nor longer mute, the harp of prophecy
Woke to thy raptured touch its strains of fire.
“Woe to the wicked! he shall surely die;
Woe to the iron heart, and right hand clench'd
Against the widow and the fatherless!
Woe to the murderer, the rebellious son,
The daughter revelling in harlotry,
The faithless wife, the dark adulterer,
The sin-polluted homes of Israel!
Woe unto him who leaves the living God,
Insensate, to adore upon the hills
His idol deities of lust and blood!”
Woe to the land that hath abandon'd God;
God hath abandon'd her: His glittering sword
Is whetted, and His winged arrow lies
Upon the string. The sentence is gone forth.
The messengers of death are on their way,
The sword of noon, the pestilence that walks
In darkness, and the ravening beasts of prey.
Behold the fury of Omnipotence,
The wrath of the Eternal! who shall stand
His vengeance? for the roll of fate is fill'd
With mourning and lament and wrath and woe.
Woe to the iron heart, and right hand clench'd
Against the widow and the fatherless!
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The daughter revelling in harlotry,
The faithless wife, the dark adulterer,
The sin-polluted homes of Israel!
Woe unto him who leaves the living God,
Insensate, to adore upon the hills
His idol deities of lust and blood!”
Woe to the land that hath abandon'd God;
God hath abandon'd her: His glittering sword
Is whetted, and His winged arrow lies
Upon the string. The sentence is gone forth.
The messengers of death are on their way,
The sword of noon, the pestilence that walks
In darkness, and the ravening beasts of prey.
Behold the fury of Omnipotence,
The wrath of the Eternal! who shall stand
His vengeance? for the roll of fate is fill'd
With mourning and lament and wrath and woe.
It ceased awhile, that wail of prophecy;
But fraught with darker mysteries ere long
Swell'd, like the moanings of the wintry wind
Again and yet again around the stones
Of crumbling sepulchres. Thine eyes have seen,
O Lord, the chambers of dark imagery,
The women weeping at the idol shrine
Of Tammuz, and those worshippers who kneel
In vile prostration to the rising sun .
Woe for the bloody city! seeing not
Those awful watchers standing at her gates
White-robed, and girt with weapons keen as death :
Nor hearing in her giddy mirth the words
That fell, Ezekiel, on thy anguish'd soul—
“Go through the gates, go through the streets, and slay—
Slay old and young, virgin and suckling child,
Spare not, but slay ye every thing that breathes;
Save those few sealed ones who sigh and cry
In secret bitterly before their God.”
But fraught with darker mysteries ere long
Swell'd, like the moanings of the wintry wind
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Of crumbling sepulchres. Thine eyes have seen,
O Lord, the chambers of dark imagery,
The women weeping at the idol shrine
Of Tammuz, and those worshippers who kneel
In vile prostration to the rising sun .
Woe for the bloody city! seeing not
Those awful watchers standing at her gates
White-robed, and girt with weapons keen as death :
Nor hearing in her giddy mirth the words
That fell, Ezekiel, on thy anguish'd soul—
“Go through the gates, go through the streets, and slay—
Slay old and young, virgin and suckling child,
Spare not, but slay ye every thing that breathes;
Save those few sealed ones who sigh and cry
In secret bitterly before their God.”
Woe for apostate Salem! she forsakes
Her glory, and the glory of the Lord
Forsakes His temple. Lingering and slow
As loth to leave His chosen heritage,
From court to court the cloud of brightness swept,
And on the threshold brooded, awfully
Reluctant; but anon the cherubim
And wheels, and sapphire throne, and firmament
Of crystal, moving silently, forsook
Thy gates, O Zion: and a little space
Resting upon the brow of Olivet,
When the last sands of mercy had run out,
Rose like a golden sunset-cloud, impress'd
With living light, and as it vanish'd left
A track of glory in the desolate heaven.
Her glory, and the glory of the Lord
Forsakes His temple. Lingering and slow
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From court to court the cloud of brightness swept,
And on the threshold brooded, awfully
Reluctant; but anon the cherubim
And wheels, and sapphire throne, and firmament
Of crystal, moving silently, forsook
Thy gates, O Zion: and a little space
Resting upon the brow of Olivet,
When the last sands of mercy had run out,
Rose like a golden sunset-cloud, impress'd
With living light, and as it vanish'd left
A track of glory in the desolate heaven.
Joy once for beautiful Jerusalem!
Hers was the time of love , when cast abroad
A helpless infant in her blood, she wept
And soon had wept her last: but lo! the Lord
Pass'd by, and o'er her His wide mantle threw,
And chose her, and embraced her with the arms
Of mercy. And she grew in loveliness.
And love: her breasts like sculptured ivory
Or roes that feed among the lilies
: grace
Flow'd in her movements; and her golden hair
About her like a veil transparent waved.
Her raiment was of broider'd needlework,
And silks of richest dyes; and Ophir hung
Her hands with bracelets, and her neck with chains;
And jewels, sparkling as the dew-drops, lit
Her coronet of gold. But none may tell
Her trancing and unearthly comeliness,
For heaven apparell'd her in robes divine ,
Hers was the perfect beauty of her God.
Hers was the time of love , when cast abroad
A helpless infant in her blood, she wept
And soon had wept her last: but lo! the Lord
Pass'd by, and o'er her His wide mantle threw,
And chose her, and embraced her with the arms
Of mercy. And she grew in loveliness.
And love: her breasts like sculptured ivory
105
Flow'd in her movements; and her golden hair
About her like a veil transparent waved.
Her raiment was of broider'd needlework,
And silks of richest dyes; and Ophir hung
Her hands with bracelets, and her neck with chains;
And jewels, sparkling as the dew-drops, lit
Her coronet of gold. But none may tell
Her trancing and unearthly comeliness,
For heaven apparell'd her in robes divine ,
Hers was the perfect beauty of her God.
Ah, woe for faithless Salem! where is now
The love of her espousals? guilt and grief
Have written on her brow their frequent tale.
It was a picture too unstain'd for earth,
And sin has marr'd a second Paradise,
When she the loveliest, most beloved of brides,
Sank harlot-like in base adulterous arms.
The curse has fallen on thee: bitter tears
Of blood and anguish have been wept: thy bloom
Is trampled in the dust, thy charms exposed
To every gazer's ridicule; and none
But God could pardon thee. But hark! He speaks
Of pardon, and of early covenants
Of free forgiveness, and a happier home
Of silent love and humble trustfulness.
The love of her espousals? guilt and grief
Have written on her brow their frequent tale.
It was a picture too unstain'd for earth,
And sin has marr'd a second Paradise,
When she the loveliest, most beloved of brides,
Sank harlot-like in base adulterous arms.
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Of blood and anguish have been wept: thy bloom
Is trampled in the dust, thy charms exposed
To every gazer's ridicule; and none
But God could pardon thee. But hark! He speaks
Of pardon, and of early covenants
Of free forgiveness, and a happier home
Of silent love and humble trustfulness.
But Israel was not lonely in her guilt,
Nor lonely was her chastisement. Beside
The flowing waves of Chebar rose the strains
Of prophecy which after years have sung
As dirges of the fall of many lands.
Proud Moab sunk before those prescient words,
More terrible than thunder, or the shout
Of conquering foes: and scoffing Idumæa
Grew pale: and haughty Philistina fell,
And Egypt with her hoary honours sank
Debased . But chiefly she, who on the rocks
Sate moated by the ocean waves, and seem'd
A God unto the nations, peerless Tyre,
Wither'd beneath the unsuspected notes,
Lone prophet, of thy awful harp. Long years
In beauty had she walk'd the waters: pride
Had deck'd her prow, and perfected her shape.
Her masts were cedars hewn on Lebanon,
Her oars were oaks of Bashan, and her boards
Of pine: her sails were of Egyptian woof,
Twined blue and purple, and her mariners
From Zidon, Tyrian pilots at the helm.
Her merchants were the nations of the earth,
Tarshish and Tubal and the tents of Cush,
Damascus, Sheba, Araby the blest,
Asshur, and Dan, and Javan. And her freights
Were treasures bought or won from every land;
Horses and mules, silver and gold, and brass,
Ebon and ivory and emeralds,
Coral and agate, finest flour of wheat,
Honey and oil and balm, and luscious wines,
And spices, cassia, nard, and frankincense,
And lambs and snowy fleeces, and the rams
Of Kedar, and embroider'd robes of blue,
And every rich, and every gorgeous thing.
Who might compare with thee, unrivall'd Queen?
Alas, alas! thy rowers in their pride
Have brought thee into perilous waters—vain
Their skill and numbers—for the Eastern blast
Through rent sails and through riven bulwarks sweeps:
And thy rich merchandise, the gather'd wealth
Of ages, cast into the boiling surge
Perfumes the storm with spices, robes the waves
With purple and with scarlet, and with pearls
And gold enriches the insatiate deep.
Nothing can save thee now. A bitter cry
Of lamentation from thy sinking crew,
Echo'd by wailing ships and weeping shores,
Rises to heaven; and on the billows float
Huge fragments scatter'd by the winds adrift,
Or cast by after tempests on the rocks,
Thy former throne, and now thy sepulchre .
Nor lonely was her chastisement. Beside
The flowing waves of Chebar rose the strains
Of prophecy which after years have sung
As dirges of the fall of many lands.
Proud Moab sunk before those prescient words,
More terrible than thunder, or the shout
Of conquering foes: and scoffing Idumæa
Grew pale: and haughty Philistina fell,
And Egypt with her hoary honours sank
Debased . But chiefly she, who on the rocks
Sate moated by the ocean waves, and seem'd
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Wither'd beneath the unsuspected notes,
Lone prophet, of thy awful harp. Long years
In beauty had she walk'd the waters: pride
Had deck'd her prow, and perfected her shape.
Her masts were cedars hewn on Lebanon,
Her oars were oaks of Bashan, and her boards
Of pine: her sails were of Egyptian woof,
Twined blue and purple, and her mariners
From Zidon, Tyrian pilots at the helm.
Her merchants were the nations of the earth,
Tarshish and Tubal and the tents of Cush,
Damascus, Sheba, Araby the blest,
Asshur, and Dan, and Javan. And her freights
Were treasures bought or won from every land;
Horses and mules, silver and gold, and brass,
Ebon and ivory and emeralds,
Coral and agate, finest flour of wheat,
Honey and oil and balm, and luscious wines,
And spices, cassia, nard, and frankincense,
And lambs and snowy fleeces, and the rams
Of Kedar, and embroider'd robes of blue,
108
Who might compare with thee, unrivall'd Queen?
Alas, alas! thy rowers in their pride
Have brought thee into perilous waters—vain
Their skill and numbers—for the Eastern blast
Through rent sails and through riven bulwarks sweeps:
And thy rich merchandise, the gather'd wealth
Of ages, cast into the boiling surge
Perfumes the storm with spices, robes the waves
With purple and with scarlet, and with pearls
And gold enriches the insatiate deep.
Nothing can save thee now. A bitter cry
Of lamentation from thy sinking crew,
Echo'd by wailing ships and weeping shores,
Rises to heaven; and on the billows float
Huge fragments scatter'd by the winds adrift,
Or cast by after tempests on the rocks,
Thy former throne, and now thy sepulchre .
And shall the wrathful lightnings that have scathed
All nations, and the chosen land of heaven
Leave thee unhumbled, Asshur? Thou hast grown
As grows the stately cedar fed with dews,
And nourish'd by the snows and rivulets,
Upon the peaks of Lebanon, until
It rises terribly pre-eminent,
And o'er the forest casts its haughty shade.
But soon the storm fell on thee. Vainly now
Thy iron roots are wrapt about the rocks,
For thou art scorch'd and blasted by the bolts
Of heaven, and hewn by many a ruthless arm
Of those who underneath thy branches slept
Ungrateful: now the lair of prowling beasts,
Or resting-place of cruel birds of prey .
All nations, and the chosen land of heaven
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As grows the stately cedar fed with dews,
And nourish'd by the snows and rivulets,
Upon the peaks of Lebanon, until
It rises terribly pre-eminent,
And o'er the forest casts its haughty shade.
But soon the storm fell on thee. Vainly now
Thy iron roots are wrapt about the rocks,
For thou art scorch'd and blasted by the bolts
Of heaven, and hewn by many a ruthless arm
Of those who underneath thy branches slept
Ungrateful: now the lair of prowling beasts,
Or resting-place of cruel birds of prey .
Cease thy dark harpings, prophet of the Lord,
Cease, for thy voice and stormy visions cast
Their desolations on the soul of him
Who hears entranced, yet cannot choose the while
But listen. Hark! the prophet lays his hand
Once more upon the trembling chords, and lo,
A valley , desolate as Tophet, fill'd
With bones innumerable, sere and bleach'd,
As though the sudden pestilence of God
Had fallen on some mighty host, and men
Had left them in the sun and winds to rot.
Death brooded o'er them. But a voice from heaven
Startles the awful silence: and behold
A shaking, and the bones, bone to his bone,
Together framed the perfect skeleton;
And sinews cover'd them, and flesh and skin,
The very lineaments of life. Again
The prophet's voice falls on them: and the winds
Breathe like the quickening Spirit of the Lord
Above the lifeless slain: and lo, they rose
An army numberless, equipp'd for fight.
Cease, for thy voice and stormy visions cast
Their desolations on the soul of him
Who hears entranced, yet cannot choose the while
But listen. Hark! the prophet lays his hand
Once more upon the trembling chords, and lo,
A valley , desolate as Tophet, fill'd
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As though the sudden pestilence of God
Had fallen on some mighty host, and men
Had left them in the sun and winds to rot.
Death brooded o'er them. But a voice from heaven
Startles the awful silence: and behold
A shaking, and the bones, bone to his bone,
Together framed the perfect skeleton;
And sinews cover'd them, and flesh and skin,
The very lineaments of life. Again
The prophet's voice falls on them: and the winds
Breathe like the quickening Spirit of the Lord
Above the lifeless slain: and lo, they rose
An army numberless, equipp'd for fight.
Hope rises from despair, and life from death.
Ha! the dense clouds are breaking: mighty winds
Have rent a pathway through their gloom, and far
Across the everlasting mountains gleam
The faint streaks of the morning. What if soon
One more prophetic vision scatters woe
On Meshech and the prince of Tubal's host ,
The last stupendous sacrifice of war
Reeking to heaven from Armageddon's vale:—
It passes like a haggard dream away,
And in the far horizon (joy for thee,
Ezekiel, lonely watchman of the night)
Grow clearer and more clear the roseate hues
Of morning-land: and here and there peep forth
The stars in dewy paleness, soon to fade
Before the glory of the rising Sun,
Rising with healing in His wings. He comes,
And in the mellow light which ushers in
His advent, to thy searching ken, O seer,
Stand forth the turrets of His temple , built
Of goodlier stones, and bright with fairer light
Than Solomon in all his glory saw:
With holy courts, and incense clouds of praise,
And deep memorial rites. He comes, He comes,
With rushing wings, and calm crystalline throne:
The same who came to thee by Chebar's banks
And lighten'd thy lone exile: now the earth
Shines with the beauty of His countenance,
And heaven rings forth its welcome jubilee.
The hills have caught the tidings from the sky,
Which o'er them bends in brightness; and the glens
Repeat the promise to re-echoing glens;
The ocean with its music, myriad-voiced,
Bears on its heaving breast the rapturous sound
Of Hallelujah, and the morning stars
Sing welcome, and the sons of God again
Shout in their everlasting homes for joy.
Ha! the dense clouds are breaking: mighty winds
Have rent a pathway through their gloom, and far
Across the everlasting mountains gleam
The faint streaks of the morning. What if soon
One more prophetic vision scatters woe
On Meshech and the prince of Tubal's host ,
111
Reeking to heaven from Armageddon's vale:—
It passes like a haggard dream away,
And in the far horizon (joy for thee,
Ezekiel, lonely watchman of the night)
Grow clearer and more clear the roseate hues
Of morning-land: and here and there peep forth
The stars in dewy paleness, soon to fade
Before the glory of the rising Sun,
Rising with healing in His wings. He comes,
And in the mellow light which ushers in
His advent, to thy searching ken, O seer,
Stand forth the turrets of His temple , built
Of goodlier stones, and bright with fairer light
Than Solomon in all his glory saw:
With holy courts, and incense clouds of praise,
And deep memorial rites. He comes, He comes,
With rushing wings, and calm crystalline throne:
The same who came to thee by Chebar's banks
And lighten'd thy lone exile: now the earth
Shines with the beauty of His countenance,
And heaven rings forth its welcome jubilee.
112
Which o'er them bends in brightness; and the glens
Repeat the promise to re-echoing glens;
The ocean with its music, myriad-voiced,
Bears on its heaving breast the rapturous sound
Of Hallelujah, and the morning stars
Sing welcome, and the sons of God again
Shout in their everlasting homes for joy.
Enough for thee, Ezekiel, to have caught
The echo of that music: when the harp
Of all creation, jarr'd too long by sin
And grating discords manifold, at last
Retuned and temper'd by the hand of God,
Shall yield to every breath of heaven, that sweeps
Across its countless and melodious strings,
Eternal songs of gratitude and love.
The echo of that music: when the harp
Of all creation, jarr'd too long by sin
And grating discords manifold, at last
Retuned and temper'd by the hand of God,
Shall yield to every breath of heaven, that sweeps
Across its countless and melodious strings,
Eternal songs of gratitude and love.
Hinton Martell, 1854.
“No eye but His might ever bear
To gaze all down that drear abyss,
Because none ever saw so clear
The shore beyond of endless bliss.”
To gaze all down that drear abyss,
Because none ever saw so clear
The shore beyond of endless bliss.”
—The Christian Year.
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